Remember: The 175th Hunger Games
by XxTheSistersxX
Summary: I don't know if you can see it or hear it, but can you feel it? Can you feel anything at all? Do you remember the forgotten? It's a choice one must make, very soon. I'm always watching. Remember me.
1. Chapter 1

Sheer talent had gotten Brill this job. Nothing else. She was simply that smart, that brilliant, that the President _had _to give her the job. And this year, she had come up with an idea so _brilliant_…no one would believe it.

Brill smiled to herself as she carefully marked the paper with her sharp pencil, frowning as her hand shook. She was doing a rough outline of the arena. The Quarter Quell was coming soon, and she had to draw carefully. This year's arena was going to be so deadly…not even the Gamemakers would recognize what was deadly and what was not.

Except for Brill. That was just the way she liked it.

"Honey?" Brill's door creaked open. She quickly covered her plans, and a frown fell upon Brill's face.

"What do you want?" she growled. A face blinked at her between the crack in the door and the wall.

"Someone's here to see you." Brill stood up abruptly. President Queer had told her that she would be visiting soon. While the arena was in progress, it seemed that President Queer didn't quite understand the Quarter Quell's concept. Brill knocked her knee into her desk, and winced a bit.

"Who is it?" Brill said nervously. Though she had met President Queer before and she was a generally kind woman, that wasn't anything to say that she wasn't dangerous. Insulting her would put Brill's life on the line, and President Queer would have anyone killed if they _dare _insult her. Her temper was legendary.

Seven years ago, when the boy from District 11 had won in the 168th Games, Queer had had him killed by Peacekeepers for bogus reasons when he got back home from the Victory Tour months later. The girl from District 1 had been her top pick for victor, and when things didn't go quite as planned, no one went near the City Circle. Queer was "interrogating" every single one of the Gamemakers to find out whose fault it was that the avalanche had went off at the exact moment that the girl had thrown a knife, and a rock had made it ricochet back into the girl's chest.

It was a year that Brill remembered well, because the next year, nearly two support departments, the assistant Head Gamemaker, and the Nature Control Gamemaker had been fired and replaced. Brill had gone on autopilot that year, marking the details in her notebook that had gone wrong in that Games. Brill kept a journal containing details, stories, and overall accidents that had made President Queer upset about the Games over the years.

So far, there were three mindsets that Brill had drilled into her brain and kept repeating over and over in her head every time she saw President Queer look at her with a scowl painted over her features:

First, _Always make sure the rebellious tributes are killed first. _If _that _wasn't done…well, in the 162nd Games, a rebel tribute had won, and the Head Gamemaker had been punished _severely_…to put it literally. Almost a week later, that victor died in a tragic fire.

Second, _Don't let anyone you don't trust calling all the shots to control the arena._ When _that _had happened in the 169th Games, the entire Arena Control department had lost their jobs and gained a spot in a cemetery. It was the way the arena had been designed by the Head Gamemaker that year. It had to be handled a specific way, and when one of the Gamemakers spitefully made the place where the Careers were sleeping explode, the Gamemakers had been punished.

Three, _At all costs, if anything bad happens and it's your fault, confess to the crime fully. Don't make excuses. _Brill had learned that when confessing to a crime at its full severity, people tended to be more lenient. Especially President Queer. She loved it when people were honest with her. She remembered watching a Gamemaker's trial on television three years ago, when the entire arena collapsed when he absentmindedly spilled his coffee over his control keyboard, and almost all of the tributes had drowned in lava. She remembered he said, _"I was drinking coffee, and I wasn't paying attention. I knocked it over with my elbow, and that is what made the arena collapse."_ No excuses. Nothing had happened to him. Brill had watched as President Queer stared at him, her wide open with shock. He hadn't tried to make the crime seem any better or any worse. She had deemed it an accident, even though the victor was not her top pick, and the Gamemaker had gotten off. He had even got a pay raise.

Opening her drawer to pull out that notebook at that moment, Brill shut the drawer, grabbed her drawings of the arena, and turned on her heel to stare at her father.

"It's Lacey," he said. Brill smiled. She had promised Lacey that she would show her ideas to her, despite the fact that they were supposed to be a secret. Afterwards, she would go to see President Queer and fully explain the Quarter Quell. "She said to bring your computer, because she needed to show you something." Brill picked up her computer, which was charging on her cluttered bed.

"Thanks, Dad!" she said brightly. He disappeared from view. Brill put her stuff on the bed again. She picked up her hairbrush and looked in the mirror. She had tired circles under her big green eyes, her black hair was disheveled, and she had a pimple cropping up near her temple. Nothing a little concealer couldn't fix. She brushed her hair and put it in a neat bun, applied foundation, concealer, blush, and eye makeup. If Lacey saw her in this state, Brill would be laughed at.

Not that appearances really mattered to Brill. The makeup and covering up was not only for Brill's benefit from Lacey, but also from President Queer. She liked it when Brill showed her maturity. Being only 18 years old, President Queer thought it was extremely incredible that an eighteen year old was soon going to be Head Gamemaker. Brill's _father _didn't even know about her plans.

She picked up her things from her desk, dropped the mascara bottle into her makeup case sitting on the vanity, and stepped outside of her room. _Deep breaths,_ she reminded herself. Though she wasn't meeting President Queer yet, leaving her room, her comfort place, was nerve-wracking for Brill. Before she had met Lacey, who was Miss Social, she barely ever got out of her room. After her mother died, she really had no reason to get out of the place. Her father had stopped grieving almost a week after, and tried fruitlessly for three whole months to convince his daughter to get out before, finally, she had snuck out the window late at night, and by accident, ran into Lacey at a party. The two had been inseparable before Brill sent in the arena idea and a request to know the Quarter Quell four months ago.

"Brill, my friend," Lacey said, her blonde hair curling over her shoulders and a dimple appearing in her left cheek as her eyes lit up. She sat on the plush off-white couch that sat in Brill's living room. Her father wasn't the richest guy in the Capitol, but he could afford a fancy sofa. Brill glanced at the photo of her mother sitting on the mantle above the handsome fireplace and grimaced a bit before assuming a carefree smile.

Suddenly, Lacey cleared her throat as she stared at something behind Brill. "Oh, hello Mr. Danter," she said cheerfully, waving a hand in greeting. "It's nice to see Brill exited her cave to see me." Brill chuckled at this, as she had turned to stare at her father as well.

"It's nice you can have that power over her." he said, nodding at Lacey. "Perhaps you two would like to talk outside? I have no problem with privacy. Brill's been holing up in her room for the past three months," Lacey nodded, bouncing up from the couch and sauntering out the back door that led to the street. Brill stood in the living room, staring awkwardly at the carpet.

"I'm meeting someone later, but I'll be back in time for dinner," she said, determinedly not staring her father in the eyes. She could almost hear him raise his eyebrow suspiciously.

"Which lucky guy is it?" he said.

"It's just a girlfriend of mine."

"Oh. Well, have fun with Lacey. And can you do me a favor and pick up a few cans of tuna fish? We're running low," Brill's father had gotten an infection with inflammation a few weeks before, and was eating fish twice a week to make up for the expensive oil fish pills he could not afford.

"Of course," Brill said. She may not have had the best relationship with the man, but she _did _love him, and did want him to get better. She stared at the birthmark on her father's neck and smiled weakly. "See you later, Dad,"

"Goodbye honey," he said. He sat back at the kitchen counter to do his work.

Brill slipped out the door and shut it tightly.

* * *

"How's he doing so far?" Lacey said as she took Brill's computer from her as they sat down at a local café five minutes later.

"He's doing better. The fish foods are working, better even than the pills would have, his doctor thinks so,"

"Aren't they dating?"

Brill nodded. She hadn't expected her father to get into the habit of dating so soon after Brill's mother's death. Though, Brill supposed, the doctor was extremely nice and kind and caring. Her father deserved it.

"So," Lacey said, smiling and throwing an oil-soaked napkin at Brill, "tell me what the double Q is this year. I've been _dying _to know ever since you told me you knew about it. I can't believe that Queer would actually tell _you_."

Tossing the napkin aside, Brill laughed. "Well, I already got the job, so it seemed pretty fair that I know what it is. It wasn't exactly hard to persuade her. I never knew it would be so easy."

Lacey took a sip of water. "Just tell me what it is already," she said. Brill looked over her shoulder. No one was there, and President Queer was nowhere in sight.

"Alright. So, this year," Brill said. "It's…"

"Yes?" Lacey prompted.

Brill took a shaky breath. "The Assassin Games."

Lacey looked politely confused. "Excuse me?"

"The Assassin Games. It's…" Brill struggled to find words to explain it. "Each tribute gets a random target. They don't choose who it is. After training, they get the name of the tribute they hunt The Gamemakers assign each tribute to a target to create the most possible blood in the Games, the tributes that have the most dynamics."

Lacey sat back in her seat. "Interesting. What if one tribute kills a tribute they're not supposed to kill?"

"Then they automatically are eliminated from the Games. Boom goes the cannon. Another dead tribute."

"What happens after the tribute kills their specific target? Are they allowed to kill anyone they want?"

"No. The Gamemakers send them a message via a sponsor who their next target is, based on their target's target. So on and so on until the last two tributes have each other for a target. Whoever kills the other first wins." Lacey was smiling, her eyes alight with excitement.

"Well, this is certainly exciting. Your first year as Ga—"

"Shh!" Brill said, a concerned look coming onto her face. "Don't say it out loud. Queer doesn't want anyone to know it's me. Okay? Keep it on the down low, alright. She'll have my head if she finds out I told you."

Lacey laughed. "Why would she do that? You're probably the most brilliant Head Gamemaker she could employ. She wouldn't kill you!" Lacey laughed, and Brill wholeheartedly agreed, and she laughed also. But if she failed, President Queer would certainly do worse than kill her. Everyone she loved would be in trouble.

There was only one thing Brill valued more than succeeding this job, it was her family.

**A/N: Hey there people! So if you want to submit, go to the profile to get the form. No submitting through review. If you do, I can guarantee that they will not get accepted. Two tributes per author. Look to the profile for more detailed rules on how to submit please before you submit.**


	2. Chapter 2

Brill found a stray clip from her backpack and pinned her hair back as President Amara Queer strode forward, quite alone, to the secluded café that she had chosen to meet at.

It had been exactly two months since Brill had met President Queer in person, and two weeks since Brill started the rough sketch of the arena. Brill forced her grumbled expression into a placid one as President Queer plopped down in her chair and someone placed a glass of water with a lime wedge placed in the glass in front of her.

The president was considered too young for most people these days. Some people did not truly know how old she was, but Queer had confessed to Brill the gap in their ages, and Brill was shocked to find out that Queer, a brilliant young woman, was only 29 herself.

Though President Coriolanus Snow, who had died in the year of the 95th Hunger Games, was very young when he rose to power, when he was only 21, at the 23rd Games, he began to induce terror on the people just two years after rising to power. The people had been on the edge of a rebellion there, and when Snow realized that his powers had to be used with the manipulation of fear, Snow cracked it down by the 28th Games.

But Queer…she could sense an uprising before it even happened. She used the Games as her weapons. She knew that if the rebellious tributes were killed early on, then there was no threat to the country at all. People forgot about them. If they got out of the arena…then it was a big problem. If it _did _happen, which it did not often, then someone had to replaced, and the rebel victor had to be eliminated.

That was number one on Brill's list. _Kill the rebellious tributes first._ She repeated it in her head as a broad smile painted itself over Queer's pretty features. _Make sure they're doomed even before the Games start_, she added.

"Brill Danter," Queer said, the smile making her face look droopy and drunk, at least in Brill's opinion. It was not something she was going to say out loud, however.

"Hello, President Queer," Brill said after taking a sip of water. "It's nice to see you again." Queer's smile faded a bit as she leaned in close to Brill. Brill leaned in slightly, subconsciously smoothing her hair as she did.

"I hope you haven't been working too hard on what I asked." she said with a tight smile, sipping a bit of her water. "The Games are months away," she said, and a motherly expression appeared. Brill almost frowned. She hadn't exactly told Queer that her mother's death was the reason she had such a brilliant idea for the arena. Queer did like honesty, but Brill's private life was the last thing she wanted Queer to delve in. If she got in and knew just how deeply she cared about her father, he was target number one, should Brill fail at her job.

_Never let anyone you don't trust calling the shots on the arena_.

"Of course not," Brill said. She leaned back, and rummaged through the papers to find the arena sketch. "I've only done a rough outline and a logistics lists. You know, muttations forms, supplies provided at the Cornucopia, Gamemaker traps, hidden goodies, that sort of thing. Especially since this year is a Quarter Quell. I wanted it to be special."

Looking satisfied, the president leaned back in her chair. "Good. I'm sure the advisors I have provided you with will not bring you down. You are an intelligent girl, my dear."

Another thing Brill didn't want: advisors. They were supposed to help her, but as Brill learned in school, they only drowned you in pressure, piled on top of you decisions, and only added weight to the burden on your shoulders. It was a luxury that Brill's still-forming brain did not need nor want.

"I also thought it wise to bring a list of the remaining Gamemakers to you. I only fired those I thought poisoning the environment, and those whose jobs are in danger, I've listed as a job opening to the public." Queer smiled, but a dangerous light went on in her eyes. This was where things got tricky. Brill usually had faith in herself to make the right decisions, but whenever Queer's eyes got a glint in them, she was headed onto unknown ground. "But of course, I thought it would be wise to give you a list of the Gamemakers you are unfamiliar with." The smile disappeared from Queer's face as she produced a crisp manila folder from her jacket. She placed it in front of Brill. "Take your time reviewing it."

Brill nodded, but she was still unsure of what Queer wanted her to do. Did she want Brill to decide the fates of the Gamemakers whose files were currently sitting in a folder on a table in a café somewhere near the edge of the Capitol? Or just to review it? Brill was smart, but even _she _had limits. She couldn't read the President's mind.

_Never ever make excuses when confessing to a crime. Saying it at its full severity is the best possible way to plead your case_.

"And when do you want me to finish the design of the arena?" Brill said, placing the folder in her messenger bag. "I know the Gamemakers spend most of the year preparing for the arena." At this, Queer's eyes narrowed suspiciously. What the Gamemakers' schedules were in the year was not common knowledge, especially to a petty eighteen year old girl. Well, hardly eighteen. Brill had only just turned 18 on September fourth. She was barely eligible.

"After all, arenas aren't built in a day." Brill said calmly. Queer raised an eyebrow. "The idea I have will take at least six months. A force field strong enough to do what I hope to accomplish would be extremely challenging." Queer relaxed.

"Don't worry," Queer responded. "You'll have just the amount of time to do what you need." She looked around at the café. "This is quite a café. Where did you find it? It is on the edge of the Capitol, not a lot of people."

"I come here with my mother sometimes." Brill said carefully. This topic was a dangerous one. She'd have to tread lightly. "Usually on the days after the Games end, but before the victor wakes up from the ride back to the Capitol."

"An interesting place to come," Queer said, busying herself with packing up her bag and fastening the buttons on her coat. Brill stood up suddenly, knocking her knee into the glass table. Queer looked at her curiously.

"I just remembered," Brill stuttered, most unlike herself. "I have to…um…get something for my father." As Queer was gathering her things into her bag and pulling out some device Brill was unfamiliar with, Brill regained her footing. She couldn't let Queer know how close she was with her father.

"What is it, exactly?" Queer said as she frowned, looking at the screen of her device and tapping on it a few times. A piece of blonde hair fell in her face, and she brushed it away with her pointer finger, which had a ring on it.

"Just some tuna fish," Brill said dully. "He has an infection, and there are these fish oil pills that would help, but we can't afford, so he eats fish a few times a week." she laughed. "I keep on telling him what a fool he is, that he doesn't get a better job,"

Queer narrowed her eyes ever so slightly. "I used to say the same thing to my father," Brill managed a chuckle.

"Great minds think alike," she croaked.

Queer stared at Brill for a few seconds, her slanted blue eyes narrowing to the point of non-existence.

"Though, I guess, I'd have to be a little older to get such a position as _you_, President," Brill covered up quickly.

Queer relaxed, and she laughed. "Well, I've got the rest of the day devoted to meeting with you. I value my Gamemakers, especially those with brilliant minds as yours. I can come with you to get your father's things."

"Thank you, President," Brill mumbled. She had just covered up her real feelings for her father. Or at least she thought. The President was one hell of an actress. It would be hard to get her to crack.

They walked in silence for a few minutes towards the local market. As Queer knew Brill's core idea for the arena, there was nothing to discuss. Brill only had to cover up for a bit.

"Your mother," Queer said. "What does she do?"

"She used to work at a children's hospital as a doctor." Brill said. It was true. Her mother had been very passionate about saving peoples' lives, especially children. She used to curl her lip whenever the Games were blaring on the television. "Look at this," she'd spit. "Never become one of those people, Brianna," she'd say, looking at her daughter with a strange light in her eyes. Brill hated her name. Ever since one of her classmates had called her _brilliant _when they were six, she had become Brill.

"Now she just stays home and does the bills, I guess. Rent's just climbing a higher ladder every day, doesn't it seem?" Brill joked. Queer nodded.

"You know the average salary of Head Gamemaker per year is $200,000." Brill looked at her feet as she walked. She was a humble person, if anything. She didn't accept charity. If she was going to get money, it was going to be through herself. It was one of the reasons she had accepted the job in the first place.

"That can pay for a better apartment, the treatment of your father's infection…your bills." Queer continued. Brill nodded again.

"I only take money through my own account. No pity money or charity cause." Queer smiled broadly.

"If there's one thing I like about you, Miss Danter, it's your humbleness. Not intelligence, but humbleness. It's not often I see someone as passionate as you about those types of things." Brill smiled.

"Thank you," she said. She stopped. They had reached a small grocery store. She stepped inside the cool, small place. "Excuse me," she said sweetly to the bored-looking cashier with fake nails, stiletto heels, and a perm. The girl looked up from her magazine. "Do you know where I might find the cans of tuna fish?"

"In aisle four," the girl said in a surprisingly low voice. Usually Brill winced whenever she heard a heavy Capitol accent. She hated it when people emphasized the Capitol's ditziness. She supposed she could help this girl out of this place and get a better job, one that would pay for school tuition. When she had gotten the cans of tuna fish, she pulled out two twenty dollar bills in addition to the seven dollars to pay for the four cans of tuna fish.

"But that's way too much," the girl said, sounding helpless. Brill smiled at her genuinely.

"_You _take it," she squinted at the girl's name tag. "Katniss."

The name still brought back bad memories. When Queer, who was at the doorway, heard the name, her facial expression darkened, and she stepped outside. One hundred years ago, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark had rebelled against the Capitol. Katniss pulled out poisonous berries during the 74th Games, letting the Capitol deduce that they'd both rather die than kill each other. Both of them got out of the arena alive, but the next year, after the Quarter Quell had been to put the victors of the previous Games back into the arena, there had been a rebellion.

Peeta had been taken by the Capitol, but Katniss by the rebels. Peeta's memories of Katniss had been altered to include terrible memories of her, and when the rebels had rescued him and brought him back to District 13, it had only gotten worse.

Katniss had been due to fight in the war, but when Peeta crushed her skull with a gun, it had all ended. The system had collapsed, the rebels lost hope, and the rebellion failed. President Snow, the president at the time, had regained his iron control grip on the districts, reformed District 12, and died shortly after.

People still remembered Katniss today.

In a low voice, Brill said, "So you're a freedom fighter?" She had heard of them existing in the Capitol. Once or twice she had considered joining the rebel movement in the Capitol, but then she had landed the Gamemaker shindig, which was impossible to escape.

Katniss nodded.

"No wonder you can't get a better job," Brill whispered. She took a pen from the register and a piece of old, faded receipt, and scribbled her number down on it.

"If you need a job, call me, okay? We'll meet somewhere." Katniss looked solemnly into Brill's eyes. Her blue eyes were wide and huge.

"You could be executed if we were caught," she said carefully.

"I won't be caught. I promise, I know what I'm doing," Brill promised. Katniss smiled at her.

"Seven dollars and fifty two cents is your total. Have a great evening." Katniss flashed a brilliant smile toward Brill's direction.

"Oh I will," Brill grinned.

Breaking the rules was fun, but it was a luxury Brill would no longer be able to pay. The cost was the life of one she loved, and it was a cost she would not be able to cover with a $200,000 salary every year.

**A/N: Hey there everyone. If you want to submit a tribute, just go to my profile, fill out a form, and send it in. I'm in desperate need of outer district tributes :) THROUGH PM ONLY. ANY TRIBUTES SUBMITTED THROUGH REVIEW WILL BE REJECTED IMMEDIATELY.**

**This is the last prologue chapter before I start the reapings. I hope this enlightened you on the history of what's happened.**


	3. District 3: The Story of My Life

clark mccormick, 16

* * *

It wasn't often that District 3 had very many wealthy people. Many people had to work in the factories, getting their hands dirty and trying to scrounge just a penny up to feed their families. It was also rather uncommon that many people were attractive in that particular district. Many of them had ordinary black, plain hair, ashen skin, and dark eyes. It was a district where almost no one looked particularly attractive enough to stand out.

Once in a blue moon, however, there came a tribute for the Hunger Games in which the attractiveness factor played a major role in sponsors. It wasn't often that it happened in District 3, but it did happen. Maybe once every thirty years. The last time District 3 had had a tribute that was fairly not too bad to look at by the Capitol's standards, the district had been lucky enough to have the girl make it to day 5 before she drowned. It wasn't like her looks would do her much with swimming. Unless someone sent her in a breathing mask.

People usually looked past District 3 tributes, but not before marking them as bloodbath tributes. There had been instances when a tribute from 3 actually stood a chance. It was rare, but it was possible.

And there just so happened to be a family in District 3 that was rich, and attractive. The likeliness of that happening was very unique, but the McCormick family always prided itself on being extremely unique in their ways.

Not that they were unique enough for their only son to escape the reaping. No indeed. But the odds were ever in their favor. Five slips in the bowl had the last name McCormick on them, which some were ready to kill for, but not many. Many were too weak and undernourished to do so much as threaten the McCormicks' son with empty words. Oddly enough, their son pitied them. He was an idiot enough that he wondered why they just couldn't seem to feed themselves.

That exact topic stood out on Clark McCormick's mind as he picked out just the right shirt for the reaping that morning. It was a crisp white one that just so happened to match his dark blue eyes, which were almost a steely grey in color. He smiled as he pulled on the shirt, thinking that if he _was _reaped for the Games that day, the escort, Valora Fairbain, would be hard pressed to find a citizen of 3 just as good-looking as Clark. Not that it _would _happen. The odds of Clark getting reaped were microscopic, as he only had 5 slips in the large bowl of District 3 boy teenagers.

"Clark!" He heard someone shouting from downstairs, jarring him from his thoughts and making the smile fade from his face. Groaning only slightly, as he was looking forward to a good breakfast that morning, he treaded lightly to the stairs.

"Yes?" he called back down softly.

"Your breakfast is ready!" His girlfriend, Amelia, was at the bottom of the steps, and she was grinning broadly. Her curly brown hair bounced and her green eyes glowed at the sight Clark. Clark was lucky to have found a girl like her.

"Oi, where are my mother and father?" he said, hurrying back to his room to grab his shoes. His room was thankfully clean; the maid must have come while he was out with Amelia last night.

"They had to go to the reaping!" Amelia called back to him. "Hurry up! We're going to be late!" Clark laughed at this. He ran down the stairs and put his arms around Amelia's neck.

"My darling, they will hold up the reaping if I am not there," Amelia rolled her eyes at his arrogant manner and shoved him off. Sometimes Clark thought that she knew too much for her own good, more than Clark would have expected her to know, and more than Clark himself.

"I'm being serious, Clark," she said. "They're going to kill us if we're late to the reaping," Clark looked at her in all seriousness. His expression turned dreamy, and Amelia rolled her eyes. Clark's expression turned suddenly serious. "Let's go," Amelia said, grabbing Clark's hand and dragging him out the door.

"Amelia," Clark complained. He did, however, let himself be dragged along. After seeing the puppy look on his face, Amelia groaned and they walked in the direction of the market.

"Okay, I lied to you." she admitted. "We have an hour until the reaping." Clark smiled. "Come along, I'll buy you some candy, if you want." Like a childish little boy, Clark squealed, and hugged Amelia around the middle as though it was physically impossible for him to reach higher than that.

As she stood in line in the sweet shop to purchase the candy, Clark stood in the middle of the buckets of sweets and stared out the window. Squinting, he looked at the alley across the street.

Draped in shadows, though not very well, were too young teenagers, no more than 21, and Clark happened to know them. Gear and Mast were family friends, or at least their parents were close friends of Clark's parents. The last time they had eaten at Clark's house they had been nodding politely at each other, not even a smile, and laughed timidly at Clark's half-hearted attempt at jokes.

Which had happened to be two weeks ago.

Now the two were so close to each other they could have been welded together, and no amount of explosives could wrench them apart. Mast was wearing a little black dress, and her straps kept on falling off her shoulders. Her shoulders were shaking, and there was makeup streaked on her face. Gear was kissing her collarbone.

Clark cocked his head. They were weird. Why were they hiding their relationship? They weren't anything at all like Clark and Amelia. Clark was proud to have his girlfriend on his arm at all times. He wondered, wondered so, why they were afraid. Or maybe he wouldn't have to. Maybe it was best to let these things go.

As soon as Amelia payed for her candy, Clark caught Gear's eye, and pulled Amelia in for a kiss. He was rough, sliding his tongue in and out of her mouth harshly, biting down on her tongue a bit harder than necessary, but he kept his eyes closed the entire time, and when he opened them, Gear's eyes were burning at Clark.

Try as he may, Clark couldn't be intimidated by the likes of someone like them. Little did he know how inferior he looked in others' eyes.

* * *

bean craymond, 13

* * *

Not many people discussed picking up tesserae on their birthdays often. It wasn't a sad or dangerous topic. It was just a topic that people got bored with. Yes, you got food, but what was the point in elaborating further on that?

District 3 was a place where taking out tesserae for some was necessary, but for some was not. Others just found it annoying. You have to enter more slips to get more food. Was that such a bad concept? The families who had cried to previous years while their children were murdered on live television begged to them to have some common sense. _Yes, it _is _a terrible thing_. No one spoke of those terrible things, though. To do so was a capital offense, punishable by whipping. Speaking out against the Capitol, of course, never ended with good consequences.

It was one of those things that people kept in mind always along the edge, never really thinking. Back to the topic of tesserae, however. It was extremely common knowledge that the young teenagers collected their yearly supply of tesserae on their birthdays. Usually there was no exception to that rule.

Unless your name was Bean Craymond and you liked wreaking havoc around the district with your guy friends on your birthday as a present instead of picking up food that could save her life.

Usually Bean picked up the tesserae on her birthday. This year, however, was way too hectic (she and her friends had been busy turning over garbage cans and generally making a mess that day) for her to run over and get the food.

Bean was screwed. How was she going to get showered, dressed, and to the reaping on time? Especially today. The Justice Building was going to be awfully busy. But Bean had to get the food for her family. They needed it. Silently, she cursed herself, tugging at her dirty black pants and hole-y white shirt as she tapped her foot on the cobblestone street just outside the Justice Building, waiting for the Peacekeeper to give her clearance to enter.

Suddenly, a man in a white uniform that didn't look like a Star Wars extra appeared and said to Bean, "You are Bean Craymond?" Frustrated, Bean nodded.

"Could you tell me what time it is?" she asked haughtily. She didn't have a watch on her. Her family couldn't afford one either, so she had to depend on others for the time.

"It's 8:45," The man said, peering at his watch. "Come inside, Miss Craymond," He gave Bean a look she had seen a thousand times. _My dear, what an attitude this one has_. Bean didn't care. She rolled her eyes.

"Listen, can we be quick with this?" she said, getting desperate.

"Come inside," the man repeated, grabbing Bean's arm and pulling her inside the cool building.

The air conditioning hit Bean with a blast. Gratefully, she welcomed it on the warm summer day, letting it wash over her. It swept back her tangled black hair and forced her dark eyes shut.

"Ahem, Miss Craymond? I believe you were the one who wanted this done quickly?" the man complained. He was holding out a clipboard. He must have disappeared in the seconds that Bean had had her eyes closed and retrieved it.

Irritated that the man spoke with the authority he did, Bean snapped her eyes open, and snatched the clipboard away. She almost gave him the finger, but instead she plopped onto the couch and got herself comfortable on it, hoping some of the grime smudged the precious velvet. Quickly, she filled out the form and gave it back to the man.

"And I just have a few questions for you," the man said. Bean swiveled, checking the time. It was 9:00. Now she was really late. _Really _late. This was cutting it close. Even _she _didn't dare to be late to the reaping.

"And I believe you were supposed to be asking them?" Bean said sarcastically, turning back to face the man.

"Watch how you behave, little girl," he said sharply, looking Bean up and down with disgust. Bean was tempted to shoot a nasty comment back, but thought better of it.

"Now, I must ask you why you didn't bother to come and pick up the tesserae on your birthday. And why now? It is, after all, very late after your birthday."

"I was…busy," Bean mumbled. It wasn't like the Peacekeepers didn't know what she and her friends did, but they didn't know it was her.

"With what?" he pressed on.

"My private business," Bean said under her breath so the man didn't hear her. "I said I was busy," she told the man. Thankfully, he sneered at her but didn't say anything.

"Well, if you insist, then I am unable to give you the tesserae today. Or ever, until next year. Unless," he said, smiling in an awful way at Bean's outraged expression, "you would like to tell me what you were doing," Bean looked at her shoes, pouting.

"Alright," she said. "If you really want to know…" she said shyly, "I was helping out in a soup kitchen," Bean doubted that there actually was a soup kitchen in District 3, but she could lie her way out of this. "My family runs a very small soup kitchen, we open it to people and I was helping out that day,"

"Interesting," the man said, stroking a non-existent beard. Of course, that wasn't what Bean had been doing that day. Far from it. She had been of course causing a wreck around the district, but should he know that? She thought not.

"I promise," she said, flashing what she hoped was a dazzling smile. Judging from the pained expression she received on his behalf, it probably was not. In a hurry to get out of the house that morning, she had forgotten to brush her teeth. Oh, well.

"I'll be back shortly," he said. Satisfied, Bean sank into the couch. Thank goodness. Looks like she had fooled yet another person.

Honestly, lying to the authorities was one of the easiest things the girl had ever done. She had done much better than that. For example, one time she had—

"Here you go," the man said, handing Bean a medium-sized bag of grain, jarring her from her thoughts.

"Oh, thanks, I guess," Bean said, jumping up and grabbing the bag, sure her hair was flying everywhere. "Gotta dash," she said, and she ran out the building.

When she got home, her sister, Neutra, was sitting next to the door. "Bean," she sniffed. "Why do you smell so perfectly awful?" Bean rolled her eyes at her younger sister. Sometimes, she swore that if she stuck a hand up her back, there would be a rod there. Neutra was a lady, just like Bean's mother, and certainly nothing like Bean.

"Take this," Bean ignored her question, throwing her the bag of tessera grain. "Where's Mom?"

"She and dad are in the kitchen, and they're looking for something," Neutra said pompously, twirling her brown hair around a pale finger as she did so. "I'd rush upstairs if I were you, Bean," Rush upstairs, indeed, was what Bean did. Looks like she'd have to wait until later to meet her friends. Sometimes, all Bean wanted was some peace and quiet.

What with the Hunger Games to worry about, peace and quiet was sort of impossible.

* * *

clark mccormick

* * *

As it turned out, Clark was nearly very late to the reaping. He had ten minutes to sign in. Quickly, he got his finger pricked and rushed to the 16 year old's section. It was a few minutes to 9:30, when the reaping was supposed to start.

He hovered the near the back of his rope, near the edge, and Amelia was nowhere to be seen. Clark enjoyed watching the crowds. They were fascinating. They were all clutching each other and some were crying. He noticed that the girl he had seen earlier, Mast, was clutching a man that Clark didn't recognize. She had a tarnished, dull ring on that matched his dull gray hair and boring blue eyes.

"Hey, there, Mast," he said. Mast looked at him, annoyed. The man she was holding onto looked at Clark. He was kind of ugly. Clark wondered where Gear was, and why Mast wasn't hanging out with Gear. They seemed to be in love. Come to think of it, Clark hadn't seen the ring on her finger earlier, when she was with Gear.

"Don't you go on talking to my wife," he said angrily. Clark was too busy to notice him. He was searching the crowds for Gear. He spotted him way in the back, wearing a plain white shirt, and he was staring longingly at Mast.

Clark's eyes flitted back to Mast and the mystery man. "Oh," the boy said. "So he's your husband," Clark said. Mast looked at the man, and the most awful look came on her face: Clark guessed that it was supposed to be one of adoration, but the look she had in her eyes made Clark think that she'd rather not be here.

"If you don't like him, why aren't you hanging out with your boyfriend?" Clark said curiously. Mast looked annoyingly at Clark, as if to shun him away, but there was something else in her eyes. Desperation. Confused, Clark said, "Your boyfriend, Gear?" Mast cocked her head.

"What are you talking about?" she said, trying to sound politely confused, but her voice was strained, and the man had taken a step back from her. A look of horror was painted upon his dull face, and the way he held himself, it was as though Mast was infected with a horrible disease and he couldn't get rid of her.

"Mast?" he choked. "Is this true? A boyfriend?"

Mast squeaked. That was confirmation enough. Confused, Clark turned back to the stage to watch the reaping. He heard some shouting, but he didn't know what was happening.

The clock struck 9:30, and the reaping began.

The mayor of District 3 stepped up to podium and began his long speech. After that whole shinding, District 3's escort, Valora Fairbain stepped up. Some people grimaced at her appearance.

She was bald and old, but she still wore liberal amounts of makeup, and she had a low-pitched voice, and a tattoo no one could identify covering half her body. Clark winced at her appearance. Judging by her expression, she was not happy to have the wig that sat atop her head.

Clark almost felt bad for her. He was glad that his appearance was a lot better than hers. Not many people could be graced, after all, with such an appearance as his.

* * *

bean craymond

* * *

"Alright, what is it you want now?" Bean grumbled. Her older brother, Plug, had managed to catch up with her as she was hurrying to the reaping. Never missing out an opportunity to make fun of her, he started to poke her. "Stop it," Bean said, trying to push him away.

"Only if you make a bet with me," he said. Bean and Plug were both participating in an Unofficial Siblings Competition. One could argue that the siblings, though they got along, were most definitely rivals. They were similar in appearance and were both extremely competitive.

Not wanting to miss beating him, Bean shook her brother's hand. Plug's features took on a mischievous smile as the two siblings jogged to the reaping. As they waited in the brief line, Plug smiled and whispered to Bean.

"Alright. I bet you if you get reaped, you will cry." Bean gasped. She couldn't possibly cry! Only a fool or a coward would do that. She took Plug's hand and shook on it.

"Deal," she whisper-cried.

Last year, Bean had discovered the disadvantage of being late to the reaping. People stared at you. Bean _hated _it when people stared at her. Trying to run along the sides of the ropes, she entered the small pen that held all the thirteen year olds and tried not to be noticed.

A few girls that were just a bit prettier than her and a bit richer than her saw her outfit and sniggered. Bean felt her fists clench up, but she couldn't knock them out. Not just yet. She'd have her time.

"Happy Hunger Games!" Valora Fairbain grumbled, who wasn't sounding so happy about being in the industrialized district. After blathering on about the Capitol's video and finally managing to get it to work, she eventually went to the girl's bowl.

At the last second, Bean turned around, her dark eyes searching the crowd for her parents. She locked eyes with her father, and her mother ignored her, probably pissed off that Bean was wearing such informal clothing.

Bean's mother was always the lady, always telling Bean how to act properly. Angela Craymond was always trying to impress her friends by getting Bean to dress up (which she hated) in dresses (which she despised) and inviting her friends over for tea (which was far too much, in Bean's opinion). It was a bit extravagant sometimes, seeing as Bean's family wasn't doing too well in terms of financial issues, but anything to show off her daughter, Angela was always ready to jump the opportunity before Bean could shoot it dead.

Bean's father, however, was a different matter completely. Silicon didn't try to change who Bean was. He loved her for who she really was on the inside, and accepted that she was different. He didn't care. He was a brilliant engineer and inventor, and though she refused to admit it, Bean loved him.

"Bean Craymond," Valora called. Bean turned around slowly. Sluggishly, the girls who had sniggered at Bean earlier were making a path, parting the like the Red Sea. Bean struggled to keep her expression neutral. She had made a bet with Plug. She wasn't about to lose it.

Almost laughing at the idea of losing a bet, Bean swallowed a choke, a sob, and a laugh at the same time. She had just gotten reaped for the Hunger Games. On the inside, she was shocked. She couldn't imagine a tear coming at a time like this. There were so many emotions mixed up in her at once that she could barely think about it.

Silently, she walked calmly up to the stage and held her head high. She felt Valora moving her a bit to her mark, and then she chose the boy's name. It was some guy named Clark McCormick. He was pretty good-looking, but as soon as he made a bewildered expression and asked what was going on, he looked like an idiot. He was making a fool of himself on live television. Bean rolled her eyes. At least she had made a good first impression.

As soon as she was whisked away into the Justice Building and directed into her room, no sooner were her parents and siblings there. Angela immediately sat down next to Bean where she was on one of the couches, and crossed her legs, like a lady. Her father didn't bother with such nonsense. He picked his daughter up and spun her around, her dark hair flying all around her. "My girl," he said in a deep voice. "I'm so proud of you,"

"Dad," Bean managed to say, but that was all. "I'm going to miss you," she choked out.

"Of course you will," Neutra said fiercely. "I know you. You're a fighter," Bean appreciated the comment, but she still wasn't so sure of it. Would she be able to fight? She didn't know.

"Thanks, Neutra," she said, smiling and hugging her little sister. She may not have enjoyed the times she had had with the girl, but they were all family.

Bean punched Plug on the arm. "My brother. My best friend." Plug cracked a smile, but his expression was pained, as though he could not bear to look at Bean at the moment.

"I believe you won the bet," Plug said. "And I think I owe you something," he added. He reached deep into his trouser pocket and fished something out. But Bean didn't need anything. She knew she wouldn't come out of the arena alive.

Gently, she said, "Thanks, Plug, but really. I can't take it, whatever it is you want to give me," Plug, with the same pained expression, nodded. Besides, Bean already had her wire she had found in the street a few years back. Bean turned to her mother.

She didn't really believe her mother would have faith in her. This was the Hunger Games. As far as Angela was concerned, the Games were something Bean would have no skills to use in. But she was wrong. Bean wasn't going down without a fight. "You show them," her mother said, her voice cracking. "You show them what hit them," After the Peacekeepers came to collect them, Bean had no more to say. She was going into the Hunger Games. And she _was _coming back. The question was: in a box?

**A/N: Alright! We kick it off with District 3. I'm very excited to start the journey of this story. I apologize for the slow update. A forewarning: I've been having some trouble with the blog where it'll put a post at the top when I specifically edit that one. If you were having trouble viewing the blog a few days ago, that's probably because I had taken them down and redone them. Don't worry, everything's the same. I hope you readers won't find it annoying, but it is very frustrating. I'm trying to work on it but I hope it'll resolve soon.**

**I hope you guys liked Bean and Clark, but I know I did when I wrote them. And I think you saw the relationship between Clark and Amelia enough to understand why I didn't need to put in his Justice Building goodbyes (it might also be because I didn't get the family for that tributes, but it wasn't really important to the tributes.)**

**I'm doing the reapings in random order (I'm actually using a random number generator to help me, so I have no idea which district I'm doing next).**

**I already picked out the victor and have organized the deaths. The arena was done long ago (right after I wrote the first chapter I was on an inspiration spark.), so don't worry.**

**I'm making a poll for you all. Just out of curiosity, which tributes do you like the best just from looking at the blog? It won't have any outcome on the victor, I'm just very curious.**

**Also, I'm not going to automatically kill off your tribute or make them seem really bad because you're not reviewing. Promise.**

**Until next time.**


	4. District 12: All the Bad Things

seraphine ashford, 17

* * *

District 12 was a place where, though explosions were uncommon, the people of the district were used to worrying for their loved ones. Most of the time, people came back, traumatized and cold and covered in coal dust but alive. There were others, however, that were less fortunate.

Katniss Everdeen's father had died in a mining accident her eleventh year. Of course, there were many, many others that perished in explosions. No one bothered to keep count, but there was one family determined to remember.

And not for the reasons one may think, but because one family member had been affected so badly that explosions had been added to her fears. One might take a look at Seraphine Ashford and think that she certainly was fearless, but once you got to know her, you would learn that she feared explosions. Flinched when they were mentioned, cried inside when an alarm bell sounded, and screamed during her nightmares.

When Seraphine shot up in bed the morning of the reaping, it was not because of her dreams. She had remembered that it was the reapings itself. At the very least, her sister, Lili, was not eligible for the reaping. It was only Sera this year the Ashfords were praying for. Sera wiped her forehead clear of the sweat that had started to bead at her forehead and swung her legs over the bed.

Immediately, Lili zipped up to her bed and started chattering that breakfast was finished and that Sera should get dressed. Lili gave her big sister a big smile. Sera ruffled the 10 year old's dark hair as she ran off to eat breakfast. She turned to her brothers, Riju and Ryuu, and frowned.

"Oversleep much?" she teased.

"Shutup, Sera," Riju moaned from his pillow.

"Yeah, you're not the one who has to go into the mines every. Single. Freaking. Day." Ryuu said, who was attempting to pull himself off his mattress. Sera rolled her eyes.

"Mom," she called. "They're not getting out of bed!" She saw her mother groan visibly.

"You should talk, Sera. You just got out of bed," Hikari pointed out. Sera pursed her lips as she danced over to the dingy set of drawers to pick out something to wear.

"Good point," she murmured.

"I heard that," one of the twins said. Sera turned, and yanked the pillow out from under Ryuu's head and hit him with it.

"Both of you, just shutup. At least I have the ability to get out of the bed," she said, her voice bristling with aggression. Sera wasn't afraid to stand up to her family, friends, or even the Peacekeepers. It was a fact many admired her for, but sometimes got her in trouble. Nonetheless, Sera knew no bounds when it came to being her usual hot-headed and bad-tempered self.

However, Sera _was _useful in some things. Her mother, Hikari, was a healer, and Sera helped out with the sick and injured people all the time. And though she knew she would have to give up her passion next year, because her family were primarily miners, it was nice to know she was helping people.

Sera had many talents, many of which had developed over the years. Because people so often saw the firecracker that sparked in her, they often couldn't tell that Sera was a sneaky person, which had helped her many a time during her teen years. Usually that side only showed when Sera was helping those injured. She became quiet, helpful, knowledgable Sera when a patient was lying on the table before her.

"Seraphine, won't you please come here? I want to show you something." Sera's grandmother said. Sera gritted her teeth: another thing about her was that she absolutely despised her name, Seraphine. On more than one account, she had complained to her parents about it being "too District 1", and insisted that people call her Sera whenever they addressed her by her full name.

"It's Sera," She said through her teeth, pulling her hair back into a ponytail to keep her flyaways out of her face. "What is it?" Usually, her grandmother showed her old jewelry that her mother and grandmother had had when they were in District 13. They were among the few that got evacuated to 13 after the explosions 100 years ago, purely because they lived in the Seam. When they moved to 13, some jewelry must have passed hands into the Ashford family hands.

"It's this," Sera's grandmother held up a necklace. Sera gasped. It was a dusty necklace with a diamond held on the strand. Sera put it in her hand and admired the diamond.

"It's beautiful." she breathed. "How much is it worth? If we could sell it, we could get a little money!" Sera was always trying to find new ways to earn money, as she couldn't work in the mines (not that she wanted to, though). Sera's grandmother laughed.

"No, no dear, I want you to wear it to the reaping." She closed Sera's hand around the necklace. Sera shook her head furiously.

"I don't want to wear it," she said firmly. "Maybe I'll give it to Lili. She can wear it. It'd look better on her, you know." She grasped the necklace in her hand and sat next to her little sister at the table. "Hey there, Lili," she said gently.

"Hey, Sera!" Lili said, and it seemed this morning she was bouncing with energy. She hugged Sera lightly. Sera opened her palm to show Lili the necklace. "It's so pretty!" Lili exclaimed. "Are you going to wear it to the reaping? It'd look gorgeous on you,"

"Nah," Sera said, pushing the compliment away. "I think _you'd _like to wear it, though." She took the necklace and tied it around Lili's neck.

"But I'd lose it," Lili protested. She lightly fingered the diamond.

"I wouldn't let that happen," Sera said lightly. "Grandma's letting you keep it. Hold on tight, girlie," Sera said, hugging her little sister. Sera loved her little sister and was extremely protective of her. She wasn't sure what she'd do without Lili. Then again, next year she'd go down into the mines. One explosion, and Sera would be dead. Lili would be asking herself the same question:

What to do without Sera?

* * *

ash ember, 15

* * *

There weren't a lot of job options for the people of District 12. Most of them were miners. Those few that had managed to escape the fringe of the horrible life they would have led down in the mines worked in their shops, demanding high prices to keep themselves alive. And when no one could buy their products, they died, and their children lowered the prices. People started to buy their products again, and when their supplies started the deplete, they raised the prices. A never-ending nutshell of depression and poor people and starvation.

Considering, it had been a bit better for the people of 12 after the rebellion, when the Peacekeepers were helping to reform 12. A few of them were the lucky ones that ended up with money. But it had been a hundred years since that, and now the district was nearly the same as it had been 100 years ago.

Therefore, after 175 years, there had one family that had been doing one thing for the duration of its generations. Coal mining. One kid from 12 was not proud to admit this, as he too was to go into the business one day, but for now he was quite content with goofing around the district and generally not taking anything seriously.

Not that you, lovely reader, should not take the 15 year old from 12 seriously. That kid was a fighter, and many admired him for his spirit and his determination. He wasn't the type to give up easy, he was tricky…there were many words that described Ash Ember, but dressy was not one of them.

"Aww, Mom, come on," Ash complained that one morning of the reaping. His mother had pulled out an ancient shirt, probably his great-grandfather's, which normally would be fine with Ash, but this. Was. Unacceptable. It had _lace_. Gag. And even worse. It had _ruffles_. Just one look at it made Ash nauseous.

Ella didn't look away from preparing breakfast—warm, mushed up tesserae bread with sugar, an alternative to oatmeal—and snapped, "You'll wear what I tell you to wear, Ash. And fix that hair before you go. You need to look presentable. Have a sense of district pride, for goodness sake." She continued mixing the oatmeal with a wooden spoon as she barked to her other children to get up.

Ash rolled his eyes. He was hoping to get in a few minutes of hanging out with his friends today before the reaping, but he could see now that that was going to be impossible. He'd woken up late, as everyone tried to do on the reaping day, but usually Ash liked hanging out with his friends.

A voice behind him giggled. Ash groaned and swiveled around to face his twin sister, Spark. She was already dressed in a clean white shirt and blue skirt and dirty black shoes. She was covering her mouth to muffle the giggles, but it wasn't working. "God," she said, staring at the vulgar shirt sitting dejectedly on Ash's bed. "Are you really going to wear that?"

"No," Ash snapped, sounding like his mother. "Do you think I'd actually go outside wearing something like _that_? I'd get laughed at," he grumbled, walking to the dresser he and his father shared to find a better shirt to wear to the reaping. "And try not to follow me around today, Spark. You're getting annoying."

As he was rummaging, he heard Spark giggle again, say, "Whatever, _little _brother," and sit down at the table. "Mom," she drawled. "Breakfast please,"

An edge to her voice, his mother said, "Be patient, Spark." Ash managed to find a clean shirt for the reaping and set it on his bed. He saw on the other side of the room that his younger sister, Jacquie, was still lying in bed, staring at her mother making breakfast.

"Jacquie," he said. "Hurry up." Staring at his mother, hoping not to evoke her anger, he rushed to her side and ushered her out of bed. It might have been her first reaping, but he suspected that his mother would not care for this. If she had one of her episodes…Jacquie would be traumatized before the reaping.

"Ash," his older sister, Lorelei, said warningly. "Go get dressed. I'll help Jacquie." Shaking his little sister one last time, he hurried back to his bed and pulled on his shirt.

"Absolutely not!" he heard a shrill voice say. He spun around, and his mother was staring at him in horror. "You take that shirt off now and put on the lovely one I put out for you!"

"Ash," Lorelei repeated desperately. Ash looked from his mother to Lorelei. He saw Jacquie had sat up in bed, and she was covering her eyes already. Spark was sitting straight up in her chair, and his father, Jacobson, was looking at Ash with a panicked look in his eyes.

"Why don't you put on the nice shirt your mother put out for you," he suggested gently, though the light in his eyes suggested otherwise. Ash looked at Lorelei again. Her expression was easy to read: _please_. _No time for your pride._

Sighing, he pulled off the shirt and put on the lace and ruffle shirt, bracing himself to be laughed at.

* * *

sera ashford

* * *

They let the day trickle by after morning. Sera brushed and braided Lili's hair, wrapped a bandage around a cut on someone's leg, and went to the market to see if she could barter a bit.

Finally, the reaping came along and Sera's nerves began to act up. She was nervous, and afraid. Her chances of getting picked were as high as ever. Or, as the Capitol might say, the odds were _not _in her favor. But, for Lili's sake, she held on as they walked to the reaping. Sera could feel her hand shaking in Lili's, but she forced herself to stop and stay silent. Nothing bad or out-of-the-ordinary ever happened to her family.

The Peacekeeper asked for her hand.

Except for the explosion that killed her father.

Impatient, she roughly grabbed Sera's hand.

And people had sympathized for the family.

She stabbed Sera's finger.

They always had, and still did.

"Go on," the Peacekeeper said roughly.

And people knew about Sera's and her mother's healing skills.

Sera numbly walked down the square toward her pen.

Everything out of the ordinary happened to Sera.

District 12's escort, Kern Williford, who looked like a vampire, complete with the pale skin and fangs and red eyes, looked annoyed as the mayor finished his spiel, and carefully stepped to the microphone. He droned in a monotone: "Happy Hunger Games. It's an honor to be here today. We have this video from the Capitol to show you." He gestured to the screen, and the video started to play.

Sera wasn't listening. She swallowed thickly, and the only thing that was blaring out the video was the loud _thump, thump, thump, _of her heartbeat. It blocked out everything, and Sera couldn't even feel the throbbing cut on her finger.

She shook her head. Sera was braver than this, and she shouldn't be scared of a little slip of paper that said her name. Nothing was going to happen to her. She felt, all at once, the warmth flood back to her and she covered her finger as it started to hurt again. She watched Kern Williford bare his fangs and say to the microphone in his dull voice, "We're going to do the brave young men this year," For some reason, Sera felt a bit better.

Kern rubbed his hands together as if hungry as he stared at the reaping bowl and he reached in. When his nails scratched the sides, the entire district could hear the squeak of his abnormally long nails. He grinned once he had chosen a slip, and pulled it out.

"Ash Ember," he called once he reached the microphone. Craning his neck with a hungry look in his eyes, he repeated the poor boy's name. "Ash Ember, come on up here."

A boy in the 15 year old section emerged forward, looking a bit nervous, but as he started towards the stage, a ridiculously overconfident smile painted itself upon his features. He even started to sway a little. It almost made Sera smile. Almost.

Looking mildly amused, Kern Williford said to the microphone, "And now the ladies," He dug in very deep this time, almost all the way to the bottom, and daintily pulled out a slip. Sera almost forgot to be nervous and frightened. Almost.

But when everything out of the ordinary happens to your family, one should not expect to be nervous when their name is picked out of the reaping bowl.

Instead of breaking down and crying like she thought she would once Kern said her name, smirking a bit, Sera swore in her head. _Bullshit_. She stepped forward, struggling to keep her face neutral. A whole lot of other inappropriate words came to mind as she walked to the stage. When Kern said her name, she struggled not to drop the F-bomb in front of the cameras. She looked Lili in the eye as she said in a calm voice that did not describe how she felt, "It's Sera."

Looking at Sera haughtily, Kern imitated her under his breath, "_It's Sera_," He snickered along with Sera's district partner.

Sera was marched into the Justice Building to await the goodbyes of her family. Almost as soon as she sat down, her grandmother enveloped her and said, "Oh, Seraphine," and as she kept repeating it, Sera kept on repeating "It's Sera, it's Sera," and finally gave up trying to correct the old woman.

Lili was holding Sera's hand and frantically asking if Sera was going to try her hardest and all Sera could say was, "I'll try, I'll try," and wondering if she really could make it home.

Sera grasped Lili tightly, as if she would never see her again. Well, she wouldn't, maybe. Sera would definitely try. Lili looked up at her, looking so brave that it broke Sera's heart. "The odds are better this year," Sera said, hugging her sister fiercely. "There's only going to be one person after me, and that makes it better."

"I hope so," Hikari said, smiling at her daughter. "You're so brave and determined. I know you can do it. We all know you can." She nudged her sons. "Right, boys?"

After a moment, Riju nodded excitedly. "Oh yeah," he said, his face all serious. "We know you can do it."

Ryuu clapped his hands, mocking an encouraging smile. "You'll kill all the nasty Careers. They'll be so frightened." He and Riju looked at Sera, looked at each other, and burst out laughing.

Rin glared at her grandsons and scolded them as Hikari said so only Sera could hear, "I should hope so," Sera felt herself laugh hollowly. Her mother was being serious, though. Sera did intimidate people a lot.

"Just remember that we love you, okay? Promise?" Hikari said, frowning as she leaned in close. Sera nodded. Why wouldn't she love her family? Despite their bad luck with her dad, they hadn't had such a bad life. She knew she loved them more than anything in the world.

A Peacekeeper opened the door, and popped his head in. "Time's up." he said roughly. Riju and Ryuu stopped laughing to stare at the Peacekeeper. "She's ours, now," he said with a crooked smile. This only made Sera's entire family laugh, including Sera.

"Oh, we know you'll take the best care of her. She's feisty, this one!" Ryuu said, wiping his tears of laughter away from his face as he exited the room. One good thing about the Ashford family: they knew how to cheer one another up.

* * *

ash ember

* * *

Ash's family was a normally quiet one. Unless of course, they didn't have Ash and Spark with them. Those two were the talkers of the family. The topic: Ash's district partner. Nearly everyone in the District knew the Ashfords. They were the resident Healers of the District. Jacobson often went to Seraphine if he had a minor burn from the mines. The conversation went something like this:

Ash: "Seraphine Ashford. Sound familiar?"

Spark: "Of course. What do you think?"

Ash: "What's she like?"

Spark: "Very determined, a lot of fire in her. She'd be good for _you_."

Ash: "Well other than that, what do you mean?"

Spark: "She's good with medicine. She's also very smart. Unlike—" _cough_— "some people I know."

Ash: "Hey! I am not stupid!"

Spark: "Who said I called you stupid?"

Ash: "Grr…"

Spark: "Get a life, loser."

Ash: "Get a brain, dork."

Spark: "Awww, is my wittle itty bitty brudder scawed of the big bad Hunger Games?"

Ash: "Shut your face."

Jacquie: "Ummm…"

Ash: "And do not use the fact that I am younger than you in a derogatory way!"

Spark: "Oh yeah? Who says?"

Lorelei: "WILL YOU TWO SHUTUP FOR A SECOND?"

Lorelei, apparently tired of the twins fighting, shouted to stop them arguing. They could go on for hours. Ella was looking pretty upset. Jacobson intervened and said, "Hey there, Ash. We're rooting for you, you know that?"

"Of course, Dad," Ash said immediately. "Why?" he said, suddenly suspicious. It wasn't like his father to state the obvious. And besides, the Ember family always stuck together.

"We just want you to know that." He said. "Always know that. I've got a feeling you'll go far, son." He patted Ash on the back, and ran a hand through his son's black hair.

"Yeah," Lorelei piped up. "I can feel it. District 12 might actually win this year, and Ash Ember will come home with the crown." She smiled with pride in her eyes at her little brother. Ash's eyes flicked towards his mother. She had sat silently through the entire goodbyes. He wondered if she was sad at all for Ash. Wondered if she would miss him.

He wondered, in fact, if she had regretted having children at all. It didn't exactly seem as though she loved them. So he was very surprised when she asked everyone to leave the room. Lorelei looked a bit hesitant to leave Ash alone with their mother, but nonetheless, she left them alone.

In fact, Ash was _very _surprised when she pulled him in close and started to cry. "Oh, Ash, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. The bad things always seem to happen to us." She ran a hand through his hair, and sounded just so motherly that Ash felt brave enough to talk to her.

"It's alright. I've got you guys backing me up." He felt himself getting a bit teary. He pulled away from Ella. "I'm sorry also. I love you. And I swear, I will turn this into a good thing. No matter what it takes. I swear on my life." Ella looked at him solemnly.

"On your life," she repeated hollowly. "You promise on your life," she said. "If you break that promise…" she shook her head sadly. A Peacekeeper appeared at the door and started to take Ella away. Ash had a promise to keep. A whole family to come back to. He could do it. Maybe the Assassin Games wouldn't be so bad.

Then again, there were 12 people he wouldn't kill if it came down to it.

What would Ella do if Ash didn't keep his promise?

The worst part: he didn't know. He wouldn't ever know, now.

**A/N: Woowee! Another reaping done! I hope ya'll like Ash and Sera. I liked both of these tributes.**

**Alright, so there are definitely more than nine of you, so please please vote for your favorite tribute on my profile. (Remember it's based completely on the blog)**

**Sorry this is a bit late—I've been (as my mother calls it) binge-watching Doctor Who and had a brief touch of Writer's Block (which is gone) and I desperately had to update stories on my other account. So, yeah.**

**Tell me what you think of these tributes! How do you think my writing was?**


	5. District 5: One More Chance

luna bayers, 16

* * *

Some people liked to think that Panem schools were different than the schools they read about in their history lessons. Some people in the Capitol thought that the children of the districts were generally well-behaved when it came to the learning environment. To be truthful, however, the schools in Panem's districts were quite similar to schools back in the olden days. They had their fair share of popular girls, jocks who were athletic, nerds, geeks, bullies, socially awkward, all people of all different sorts.

They also had their share of go-with-the-flow kind of people, who just went along with what happened. There were many of those, and quite frankly, was the norm for the country's students. District 5 was no exception. Just like any other district, their children classified themselves into the pre-made categories, because no one would dare to be different. The teenagers couldn't bear to think what being different was like.

There was one teenager part of a group of go-with-the-flow kind of people that refused to let injustices pass under her eyes. Her younger sister, indeed, was one of those that often fell victim to the bullies, and she had to help her sister keep them at bay. At first sight, one might take one look at Luna Bayers' pale complexion and reddish-brown hair and not think that she was a fiery girl, but after you got to know her, you might want to be careful as to what you say around her. For instance, one kid, who was not even particularly mean, a large boy named Lumen Fahrenheit, was talking to her and accidentally let slip that her sister was a runty girl, small and unimpressive, and he ended up with his two front teeth being knocked out.

Because Luna Bayers was _not _a shy girl, and refused to let any insults directed at her sister pass her by.

On the morning of the reaping, at a few minutes to 10, a half hour before the reaping, Luna's right hand was throbbing hard from the punch she had thrown at a boy called Neutron. She could feel the harsh sun, not unusual for July, beating down on her neck, probably making a sunburn on her pale skin, and she breathed in heavily, her shoulders slumping with the sleep she should have gotten last night.

Neutron, a rather small and scrawny boy, not unlike a rat, was clutching his nose as the blood flowed from between his fingers and failed to mutter a few insults at Luna. She could feel her fist tensing up, and clenched it, turning her red knuckles white. "You insulted my sister, you worthless piece of shit," she spat at him. "Why? What did she do to you?" she rushed him, punching him hard on his wrist that was enclosed around his bleeding nose.

"Luna this isn't the time," one of Luna's friends, Emily, tried to plead with her. It most likelyOl wasn't going to work, as it so often did not. Luna wasn't the type to back down. That was a sign of weakness. She circled her opponent, as enemies so often do, as her friends tried to get her to please just stop fighting so they could get ready for the reaping.

Neutron howled, clutching his wrist with his hand, drawing it away from his bloody nose. "Alright, I'm sorry," he tried to say through his injuries, the blood covering his mouth. "I said I'm sorry. Really, okay? I didn't mean it,"

"Alright," another one of Luna's friends, Olivia, snapped. "He said he's sorry. That's enough for me. Now we have half an hour. Daniel, help me with her, please," As fury streaked across Luna's face once more, her boyfriend, Daniel, picked her up in her arms and carried her away from Neutron as Olivia helped him get to the District's doctor.

Emily and Daniel followed Luna in the direction of Luna's house and tried to console Luna. None of it was going to work. "Luna, you can't just go around punching people," Emily said soothingly, elbowing her twin brother out of the way to put a reassuring arm around her best friend. "Listen, we'll always be friends, but that doesn't mean I love the way you act sometimes. He said he was sorry. That's gotta count for something, right?" she sighed as Luna ignored her.

Luna stormed inside her house, calling to her friends, "See you at the reaping," and stomping upstairs to get dressed. When she heard the stomping, Luna's little sister, Naomi, ran up to her and gave her a hug. Luna's expression immediately softened and she hugged her sister back tightly. She tried to hide her split knuckles. She didn't want Naomi to know she had been fighting again. "Hey there. How's it going this morning?"

"I'm a little nervous," Naomi said, biting her lip, and looking nervously at the ground, then back up at her big sister. "Last year being safe, and all." she laughed a little. "I just hope _you'll _be okay, Luna," she smiled at Luna, then left Luna so she could shower and get dressed in peace. Honestly, Luna didn't know what the world would do without sweethearts like her little sister.

Next year she would be put at risk, which was just a bit terrifying for Luna. She'd have to work as hard as ever to keep Naomi protected. The thought, though, of her friends by her side, helped soothe her.

Luna had once made a lot of friends, but they all eventually gained their distance from her, except for three people. Emily Aiken, Daniel Aiken, and Olivia Escott were all friends with Luna, and Luna was glad to have them at her back.

She ran a hand through her dark, waist-length ginger hair, and went upstairs. She had a feeling today's reaping was going to get interesting. And just like that, the thought of even silly Columbae Cronin, who had two of her fingers fused together on her left hand to form a heart, made Luna laugh out loud. It was funny, really, how even the things that normally she despised, would be able to cheer her up. Not that she despised her friends. She was glad she still had them.

Friends. Columbae Cronin. Naomi. Little did Luna know, was that she'd be thinking about those people a lot after that day.

* * *

xavier monroe, 13

* * *

Ever since the beginning of the Hunger Games, there had been 3974 tributes that had lost their lives. Assuming that each tribute had both parents, a sibling, and two or three friends, that had been 19870 people who had grieved over their deaths. And there had probably been around 200 12 year olds that had gone in there, and maybe 150 that had suffered the fate of being slaughtered in the unfortunate first few minutes of the Games.

150 times 5 equals 750, so around 750 people grieved for 12 year olds that had died in the brawl at the beginning. And probably around 75 of those grieving people had lived in District 5.

75 divided by 5 equals 15, so around 15 families, and their friends, grieved for those who had lost their short lives in the Bloodbath at 12 in District 5. One tribute, who went by the name of Alex Ziefert, had died only last year, and his only best friend had, of course, mourned over the loss of his life, which had occurred in only the first few minutes of the Games.

Xavier Monroe, normally, was not a particularly sentimental person, and so he thought it was an accomplishment that he was still managing to mourn for one of his only best friends. On the outside, it seemed as though he had recovered quickly, befriending quite kind girl named Allie. But on the inside, which only Allie knew, there was a part of him that still was asking that one worded question over his friend's death.

That morning, however, he had no time to think about Alex, and he was rushing around his bedroom, trying to find something presentable to the reaping. Today, especially, he wanted to stand out. He had something very important to do.

He heard his mother calling him down to eat breakfast. Xavier, finally having found a shirt that wasn't so ratty, raced downstairs to grab a bite to eat before meeting Allie to go to the reaping. "Thanks, Mom," he mumbled. Cassy smiled proudly at him. Xavier glanced quickly at his father, then his eyes darted away. His father had a deep frown etched upon his face, and Xavier knew it had nothing to do with the reaping today. It was the decision Xavier had made about it.

Pushing aside thoughts of his father, who he wasn't exactly close with, Xavier pushed open the door and jogged around, his small hazel eyes searching for Allie as he headed in the direction of the square. He heard a voice call him and turned around. Immediately, the muscles in Xavier's face relaxed.

"Xavier!" Allie repeated, her gray dress bouncing on her round frame as she ran to catch up with him. She had a wide smile on her face, and she drew Xavier in for a hug when she reached him. "I'm so glad I found you before the reaping. I just wanted a chance to talk to you, you know?"

Xavier nodded. Allie pushed her brown curls behind her ears and a motherly look painted itself on her round features. Her chubby cheeks instantly creased and she pouted. "You sure you're making the right decision about this? You might not, you know…" she trailed off, unsure of what to say next.

Xavier shook his head. "It's all about the mentality. I've seen tributes who think it's all brute strength that they need to get through the Games, but you also need to remember to keep your mentality about you. It's equally important not to lose yourself emotionally in the Games." Allie nodded. Xavier was very intelligent when it came to those things, so she tended to trust him.

"Of course, but you know the odds are usually not in a younger tributes' favor?" she said, biting her lip in anxiety for her friend. Xavier took Allie's hand reassuringly.

"I promise." he said, looking into her warm brown eyes. "I know what to do. You trust me, right?" Allie nodded, looking away. "Of course you do. So just know that I know what to do. I can't guarantee you're going to get a play-by-play of what goes on in training, but I know how to play the odds into my favor."

Allie sighed one more time. "We're here," she gestured lamely to the lines that had formed in front of the Peacekeepers taking blood. Once they both got their fingers pricked and were standing in the 13 year old section by 10:30, the mayor of 5 stood up, and did his long speech. Once he was finished, he introduced Columbae Cronin, the District escort. She had bright pink skin that hurt the eyes, too-full lips, and her signature cosmetic alteration, two of her fingers fused together on her left hand to form a heart. It amused Xavier to think of how devoted she was to her husband. Supposedly she had done the surgery so she would never have to take the ring off.

She was as annoying as any of the districts' escorts, with her high-pitched voice, and silly bright clothing that hurt the citizens' eyes. She began with the girls this year. Xavier found himself grasping Allie's hand, praying hard that she wouldn't be up against him. He wouldn't have the heart to kill her. "Luna Bayers," Columbae called. A girl in the sixteen year old section's eyes widened, and she started to visibly shake, clearly terrified, but eventually, without the shaking, made her way up to the stage. She put on a neutral face, which Xavier had to admit he admired. Trying not to draw attention to oneself was a very important factor, which could indeed help save your life.

Xavier had heard her name being mentioned a few times around the district, along with the words _troublemaker _and _rude_ and _not a lady_. Whoever she was, Xavier was sure she'd make a good tribute.

It seemed to take Columbae forever to make sure Luna was standing in the right spot, and walk precariously in her five-inch heels to the boy's bowl. She dug her hand in, eventually, and picked out a name. "Edison Papel," she said cheerfully. A boy from the 17 year old section climbed up to stage, clearly terrified. Xavier was glad. He'd be saving the poor boy the terror of being reaped.

He stepped forth of the rope, raised his hand, and said, "I volunteer as tribute." Edison shot him a pained, but grateful, look, and shakily dismounted the stairs. Xavier quickly walked up to the stage before he lost his head completely and stood near Luna. When he shook her hand, it was a bit sweaty, but she managed to smile at him a bit while he smiled in the tiniest possible way back at her.

"Here we are, District 5, the tributes for the 175th Annual Hunger Games: Xavier Monroe and Luna Bayers! And may the odds be _ever _your favor!" She led them into the Justice Building with Peacekeepers around them on all sides, just as Xavier had seen Alex do the previous year before he had said his goodbyes.

He wondered who would be wishing him farewell this year.

* * *

luna bayers

* * *

Luna and Daniel didn't often kiss in public, but Luna supposed that this moment, when they were alone together, in the Justice Building when Luna was saying goodbye to him, was an appropriate moment to touch her lips to her boyfriend's.

"I'll miss you," he said, hugging her tightly. "I know you're going to be great in there."

"Of course," Luna murmured. "I'll be thinking of you always." She couldn't get enough of Daniel now. If she had known before that her name was going to come out of the reaping bowl, she would have had more moments like this with him, but it was too late for that now. Luna would only have this moment to cherish for a long time.

Unfortunately, the moment ended when the Peacekeepers came to collect Daniel. Luna held out her hand to Daniel as he left, and the look in his green eyes was too much for Luna to handle. She sat down on the couch and started to cry. Not a huge cry, like one might do if they had a spat with a sibling, but a cry so sad and so small that Luna had never felt her heart breaking so bad in her life.

She sat for a few minutes, sobbing quietly into the sleeve of her shirt, before someone else, or someones, entered the room. Immediately, arms encircled her and gave her the comfort she so desperately needed. "It's not worth it to cry over my brother," Emily said jokingly. "But if you want to know, I don't think he's going to speak a word again if you die in there." Emily looked broken just saying the statement. "Please. I love my brother. Don't let that happen to him,"

"I-I promise," Luna said hollowly, laughing in an empty, brittle voice. Olivia sat down next Luna, and soon the girls were a tangled mass of arms and tears, fighting the pain down. It felt like nothing could describe Luna's pain anymore. She was leaving home, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. Soon, too soon, the Peacekeepers were dragging her best friends away. Then they were saying they loved Luna, and then the door shut and the silence greeted Luna once more.

The last time the door opened, it deposited Luna's family. Immediately, Naomi scrambled into her arms and Luna held onto her tightly. "Hey there." Luna said softly, wiping her tears away with her sleeve. Luna's parents, Lily and Kevin, were clutching each other as their daughters gripped each other tightly. Luna let go of her sister and hugged them each fiercely. "Please, if I die, just move on. I only ask for you guys to have a great life. Just remember me when I die, alright?" her parents nodded.

Luna crouched to look at her sister one last time. She took her arms in her hands, and looked solemnly into Naomi's icy blue eyes. The eyes that often read books, the eyes that lit up when learning. The eyes that by eleven, knew far too much sadness. "You know I'm going to be fighting the entire time." she said, putting on the biggest smile she could under emotional strain. "Fighting for you." She could not even hug Naomi anymore. That moment had come and gone.

Luna could only watch her sister leave and wish that she'd told her just one more time she loved her; just one more time that she wished she could've played with her when they were younger. The things that Luna would do to live her life over again, and to highlight the good things. But you know what? You can't be happy unless you're unhappy sometimes.

* * *

xavier monroe

* * *

Allie had just finished saying her goodbyes when his parents walked in. Already, Xavier could see his father's nervous look, but immediately brightened when his mother squealed and hugged him, crying and saying she was proud of him.

"Your emotions were perfect, dear! Oh, I'm so proud of my baby!" she said, squeezing him tightly. Through Cassy's arms, Xavier could see Richard looking sad, just so sad at the prospect of his son leaving him, possibly never to see him again.

After his mother finished squeaking and squealing and hugging and crying him, Xavier slowly made his way to his father. "I'm sorry." Xavier said, looking at his feet. Now that he was facing his father, he could tell how he felt about Xavier leaving.

"I just wanted one more chance to tell you that I'm proud of how you've grown," his father said. "You've come so far." He pulled Xavier in close, and at first Xavier was tense, but he eventually relaxed. "I just…hope that all this is worth it." He gestured vaguely to the room around them. "I want to know that you get far, that you succeed in whatever you're trying to achieve."

"Dad…" Xavier said, lost for words. He was starting to choke up a bit. "I'm smart. It takes a good head to get through the Games. You know that." His father nodded. "We haven't got much time." Xavier reminded him. "I suppose…" he trailed off, unsure of himself. "If it's my last chance to say it…Just…have a great life, Dad. I love you."

"Xavier, you know I only want you to survive what's coming at you," his father said weakly, clutching Xavier's hand like it was his lifeline.

"But if I don't, at least I'll get to see Alex again." Xavier reminding him. It was funny, almost. That was the one thing that Xavier was looking forward to if he died. It was the only thing that could console him.

There was, however, one more question that was tugging at Xavier's mind. Would it hurt much, when he died?

**A/N: And there we are! Our district 5 tributes! I'm so glad I was able to finish this chapter earlier than I normally would have.**

**Keep on voting in the poll if you haven't voted yet! I'm anxious to hear from you guys! Just a quick note: I know it's a bit early, but for the training scores, I might have to modify them just a bit, to make it realistic, or for plot development, so just a heads up. Don't worry, I'll stay faithful to your tribute 100%.**

**Thank you all so much for the reviews, favorites, and followers I've gotten. I can't thank you guys enough.**


	6. District 2: Motivation

ashlar "ash" diamond, 17

* * *

District 2 was a very large district. It had its shiny, polished buildings, which included the Victor's Village's buildings, the mayor's house, the Justice Building, and the Tribute Training Academy. It also had its fair share of many nooks and crannies that only the criminals cared to hang out in, getting drunk and vandalizing the walls of random buildings. The morning of the reaping was no different than any other morning. A few girls were laughing as they cut across the green to get in some last training at the Academy, waiting to find out who'd be volunteering that year. Some people were opening up their shops, hoping to get a few trades in before 9 o'clock, when the reaping started.

Other than those waiting for a trade or an announcement of the volunteers, the streets of District 2 were quiet, as quiet as any morning in the stone-mining district at 7:30 in the morning. But no one could know that a fire, however small, was burning in a secluded alley that only four criminals visited, though there was only one residing in that alley that quiet morning. Fire was silent, but when it grew loud, it was too large, and too difficult to quell.

The flame tip jumped from the match held between Ash's slim fingertips and caught onto the document in the dumpster. Ash's long black hair swept around her shoulders, framing her thin shoulders and thin face. Everything about the small 17 year old from District 2 was thin. Thin fingers, thin frame, thin body. Except her eyes. Her dark brown eyes were wide and curious. Not that Ash was particularly curious about anything.

She hadn't been interested in learning for 4 years. But it had been longer since she'd been interested in _anything_ at all. Since she was three years old, actually. Ash was surprised that it had taken her so long—ten years—to realize that her education was a useless thing to her and finally drop out. But even more surprising was the fact that she had actually fell in with a group of people who ran the streets most days, fighting, running, stealing, pillaging. They didn't define themselves as a gang, however. And never, had Ash ever anticipated that she'd ever learn to fight from one of them. She had sworn off training for the Hunger Games long before it was cool for kids her age to do it.

Ash continued to watch the document curl up into smoke and ashes. The flame was burning the match in her fingers, and Ash blew it out. She dug the burnt out match onto the street. She stood, and dug her shoe into the match, making it crumble into gray dust, watching it as some of it danced on the light wind that blew through the alley. Then she bent down and set her hand squarely on the bits of dust, smudging her small hand in ash. A joke, really, since her name was Ashlar. A name she hated. _Ashes, ashes, they all fall down_. A childhood game.

Ash pulled a cigarette pack from her pocket along with a lighter. She held a cigarette in her mouth and lit it. _Inhale, exhale, take out cigarette_. She thought. Normally, Ash wouldn't smoke at all, but she needed to relax today. Quickly, her mouth tasted disgusting, like smoked grass, and she spit onto the brick-ground, and stubbed out her cigarette.

"How are you up this early in the morning?" a girl's high-pitched voice called from the entrance of the tiny alley. Ash coughed a few times and took a sip of water from her nearly-empty water bottle, then looked up to see her best friend, Zara, leaning against a graffiti-covered building, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. Ash laughed at her.

"How are _you _up this early and not at the Training Center?" she replied calmly. Zara shot her a death glare, only half-joking, but still. Her friend strode over to her and slapped her blonde curls. "What did you do, curl your hair? It looks terrible. And Little Miss Princess was listening to the news real loudly before I woke up,"

"Oh, haha," Zara said half-heartedly. "They're not going to pick me to volunteer. Like they'd do that." Ash pouted as the words spilled from her friend's lips.

"You made the runner-up list, Zar. That's gotta count for something, right?" Ash leaned against the alley, watching someone in the distance light up a cigarette, blowing her hair out of her face.

"Yeah, but that's only because I'm good at fighting. Only what Poller taught us. You think hand-to-hand combat's going to help anyone in the Games? Especially in the Quarter Quell?" Zara shook her head. "Doesn't happen. No one who's good at hand-to-hand ever wins."

"Yeah, but this year there's only going to be one person trying to kill you. That lowers the chances of you dying," Ash sniggered.

Zara looked at the ground. Ash knew she'd hit a sore spot. While she hated her own life, she wasn't suicidal. That was where she and Zara differed. Zara _was _suicidal. That was why she trained for the Hunger Games. She didn't want to lose her life in that way. And while Ash didn't blame her, she also didn't get her friend's logic.

"So, what are you trying to burn there?" Zara said quietly, pointing at the embers of the dying fire the paper had made.

Ash stared at the document. "Some official document. Probably important." Zara smiled again, a stupid grin as she stared at her friend, who was frowning as she stamped out the fire.

"Oh, your mom's probably going to be pissed about that," she said as she started to laugh.

"And how do you know that?" Ash panted as she frantically stamped out the flames, smoke getting in her dark eyes.

"Well, she _is _the mayor of the district, and you know she gets mad when you do things like this." Zara pointed out.

Ash frowned at the mention of her mother, the mayor of District 2. "You know she should get used to this already. I've been doing it for what, four years now?" She stomped on the embers as they flared up again, glowing orange and yellow.

"But you've probably wanted to do it for longer. 14 years, Ash," Zara said jokingly, her blue eyes wide.

"Oh shut up," Ash muttered. It had been fourteen years since her mother had been mayor. And fourteen years since Ash had started to hate her life.

"C'mon, it's not really that bad," Zara tried to say. "You get good food for dinner, breakfast, that can't be terrible," Zara was constantly trying to tell Ash how great a life she had because of her mother, but to no avail. Ash hated her life as much as Zara did.

"It is when you have to listen to her gloat about how nice life is and how I should go back to school," Ash snapped. That silenced Zara immediately. Ash leaned her head back against the wall, wishing her father was still alive.

One of the only reasons she had let her friend, Poller, train her in hand-to-hand combat was so that she could take revenge on her father's killer. Her father had died, no, been _murdered _when Ash was five years old. When she found him in a ditch on the city's edge when she was 13, she dropped out of school and joined Zara and Poller. Poller had taught her how to fight.

"Maybe we should get ready," Zara murmured quietly. Ash nodded quietly. "It'll help take your mind off things." Ash hoped so. The thought of her father's killer couldn't leave her mind. The thing she was doing would have to be pretty damn jarring to break her out of her periphery.

* * *

len agarato III, 17

* * *

It wasn't uncommon in District 2 that many people trained to be Peacekeepers. Nine years of service, no marriage, no children, until you came home to District 2. It wasn't very common that the Peacekeepers came back to the District that they had any friends; almost no one would remember them. Therefore, they lived lonely lives, were often pessimists, drunks, or had committed suicide.

Some of them wished for death to come. Others, the lucky ones, found homes, wives, husbands, and a living. But for the others, that didn't return…

It wasn't often that a Peacekeeper died in combat. Normally they had physical training, combat training, and therefore enough skill to keep a rowdy district citizen under control. But in District 10, there were animals who stampeded sometimes. Under no circumstances were Peacekeepers trained to control a herd of animals plowing down everything in sight.

Not many died from a stampede, but one day, six years ago, eight Peacekeepers died in a tragic accident, from cows and bulls stampeding in 10. One of the 8 was Len's uncle.

While his death hadn't particularly affected 11-year-old Len at the time, now he wished that his mother was still depressed over his death. Then Len wouldn't have to be working so hard at the Tribute Training Academy. Today was like any other day. Len was training in the Center, currently chucking a few spears at a target from forty yards.

He knew that the Head Trainer, Kelsi Panther, was watching him, so he had to make every throw count. Every time Len threw a spear, he could see his dream of becoming a television host in the Capitol growing dimmer and dimmer.

"Well done, Agarato," a deep voice grumbled. Len panted as someone pulled all his spears out of the target. Len spun around, feeling the heat from the bright light fixtures beating down on his bare head, to stare at Kelsi.

Kelsi was a rather petite woman with short brown hair and wide green eyes, but what she lost in size she made up for in her personality. She was fierce and ruthless and harsh, and only chose the best to volunteer. She didn't believe that only the 18 year olds could produce a good victor. As a result, she had chosen a 15 year old girl last year to volunteer, and she had come home a victor.

The odds of getting chosen to volunteer, therefore, were in Len's favor. Not that he liked them.

Far from Len's liking, in fact. Len's mother ate, drank, lived, and breathed hoping that Len would volunteer and come home a victor. The reason? Glory for the family name. Before that day, Len and his mother had had a typical mother-son relationship, but now Len could barely stand the look of her. The temperature had frozen between them. Sure, Len wanted to become a victor now, but he wanted it be on his on his own terms. Because the people who had all called him weak, and mocked his lack of physical strength, he wanted to see the duped looks on their faces when the last cannon went off and he was still alive.

All the thoughts running through Len's head, he said simply, "Thanks."

"You made the runner-up list. That's always a good sign," Kelsi said, oblivious to the fact that Len didn't exactly want the spot. As usual, people didn't pay attention to what Len wanted.

Of course not.

"I guess so," Len muttered.

"You should go take a quick shower and change. We'll be announcing the volunteers soon."

"Soon," Len echoed. Something hard had began to weigh down on Len's chest, and he wasn't sure where it had came from. Kelsi looked at him, long and hard.

"I'm proud of you, Agarato," Kelsi said finally. "You've come a long way. I don't want you to give up this easily."

"Yeah, alright," Len mumbled, trying to push past her tiny frame, but she stood resolute, and Len wasn't that big himself. Len was going to slap her soon, which he didn't often do. Normally he was the type of guy to make jokes that were unique and un-thought of and mess around, but of course no one could know that other than him and his friends.

"I'm serious." Kelsi smiled, which was rare. Some people called her 'Miss Machine' because she rarely displayed any emotions. "Agarato, not many people are as talented as you are. If you get reaped today, then you should know that you're well prepared, what with your natural talent."

"Natural talent," Len repeated. "I'll think about that, Kelsi," Kelsi smiled broadly at this. Clearly satisfied with his answer, she clapped him on the back and strode away to her office.

Len rolled his eyes. He took a quick shower and changed into a ratty t-shirt and sweatpants. "Hey there, stranger," a gruff voice said. Len spun around, and a bright grin lit up his features.

"K-Bomb," he said, and instantly, the heaviness Len had felt earlier lifted. Kando Bomical, or as everyone called him, K-Bomb, was one of Len's good friends. Though he was 16 years old, and Len's physical opposite, they went well together. K-Bomb was tall, muscular, burly, and threw the most powerful punches of anyone in the Academy, thus the nickname K-Bomb. "What's up?"

"Oh nothing much," K-Bomb said, leaning against a wall and flexing a bicep. It was just like him to show off in front of Len. Ignoring the ripped muscle now displayed right in front of his face, Len grabbed his bag and dropped it noisily on the floor, a loud _clunk_, making K-Bomb jump. "I heard Daisy Keys was talking passionately about you in the girl's locker room."

Len groaned. Daisy Keys had an obvious crush on Len, and while many guys would love to have her as a girlfriend, she was only interested in Len. But she was downright bloodthirsty and vicious, and that was what Len didn't like about her. So he ignored her most of the time.

"That girl is obsessive, I'm telling you," K-Bomb said, squinting at the mirror. "You ought to get a restraining order,"

"Oh, whatever," Len said. "I don't care about Daisy. I just don't want to get picked."

"For the reaping?" K-Bomb said, staring at his friend in surprise. Nearly every year, there was a volunteer. Len shouldn't have been worrying about getting reaped. Even so, he would've had a chance. Len shook his head. K-Bomb frowned. He wasn't the smartest of people. "Then what?"

"As a volunteer," Len frowned. K-Bomb's expression cleared. It was common knowledge to him that Len had hated his mother more than anything the day she was more determined than ever to make sure he was crowned a victor one day.

Len looked at his friend. He knew that a prepared body was no good if you had a scattered mind. He therefore wondered if his friend would have a chance if he got chosen to volunteer. Len shook his head. Now was not the time to be worrying about K-Bomb. He had to worry about himself.

Of course, Len had his own ideology set in his mind, his own set of morals to go about the Games, and his own goals to send him soaring through the Games.

And while his mother wanted him to win the Games, Len's father wanted him to accomplish his dreams of becoming a television host. It wasn't a very realistic dream, but, hey, a boy could dream. Well, the day his father had let slip _that _hope of Len's to his wife, she had quashed the dream pretty quickly.

He may not have had a dream to come back to, but at least he'd have a motivation other than one his mother had invented.

* * *

ash diamond, 17

* * *

Ash swept makeup onto her cheekbones, listening to the steady tap of her mother's high heels clacking on the tiles in the hall outside her room. She pulled conspicuously on her mini-skirt that was barely covering her thighs. She cursed Zara for daring her to wear this to the reaping.

"Ashlar," came her mother's irritated voice. Ash turned to look at her mother. She was wearing a stupid little name-tag that said her name, _Dara_, and a black pantsuit with small black heels. Her long, bright red hair was pinned back in a knot at the back of her head, and her dark eyes that matched Ash's had the same dangerous glint that Ash's did when she was really pissed off, or suspicious of something. Her hands were on her hips and her mouth was set at an angle. "We're going to be late,"

Ash rolled her eyes as she swept liquid black liner onto her eyelids. "Ash," her mother's voice came, sounding alarmed. "It's 8:30," she said, sounding kind of panicked.

"And I have half an hour until the reaping," Ash said evenly. "You can go there by yourself,"

"Absolutely not," her mother sighed. "I want us to be there together. So we can look like a _functional_ family,"

"Yeah well no one in the entire District knows I'm your daughter," Ash snapped. "So you can go by yourself. I'll be there by 8:50, alright? Just stop bothering me,"

Dara took a sharp breath. "Someday," she muttered. "You'll see."

"Yeah, will maybe I won't. Then you'll be crushed. Have you ever taken thought to that? I'm different than you are, and I can make my own choices," Ash said. Her mother shook her head and turned on her heel.

"I'm waiting two minutes," she said as she climbed down the stairs in her fancy heels. Ash groaned. This was the worst, when her mother made her feel bad. She finished putting on her eyeliner and mascara, put on her combat boots, and flew down the stairs. Her mother was leaning against the kitchen counter, staring at her watch, and said, "Three minutes,"

"I know," Ash grumbled. "Let's just get this over with,"

"Next year it'll all be over," Dara said carefully. "Then you'll be safe," But Ash already knew what her mother wanted to say. _You'll finally grow up._

If there was anything Ash feared, it was her mother being right about things that she disagreed with. A silly fear, but Ash hated being wrong. Ash took a glass of water and drank a bit. It cleared her head a little.

"I'm going to go out the back door," Ash said, drumming her thin fingers on the counter. A dark strand of her hair fell in her face. Her mother didn't argue. She knew her daughter didn't like being identified by her. She therefore didn't argue as Ash stepped outside and shut the door.

As soon as she signed in to the reaping, Ash's dark eyes skimmed over the multiple heads of her district. Ash was a little smaller than all of them, so she had to hop a little bit to locate Zara. When she spotted her friend's sleek blonde head she jogged in her combat boots to the 17 year old's section, pulling her skirt down so she didn't look like a slut.

Zara's hair was a little wet, and it was pin-straight, like it was when it was natural. Ash stuck her fingers at her friend's waist, and Zara yelped and jumped in surprise. She swiveled, spraying some of the dirt on the ground onto Ash's pale, bare legs.

"Oh, come on, Ash," she complained. "I'm gonna sue you if you do that again," Ash shot her a devilish grin as she shrugged, making her curls bounce.

"I can't help it, Zar," she said, giggling a bit. "How about we do…Rock, Paper, Scissors. Then we'll decide if I win." Zara shrugged.

"Fine." During Ash's mother's speech, they continued to play past the point of two-out-of-three games, and just played for fun. All of it was childish and silly, but it was moments like these, she knew, that Zara wanted before she died.

Finally, the escort, Winter Harpoon, a woman in her early thirties who had short, white hair and bright red lipstick, stepped up to the microphone. As per usual, every single year, Ash and Zara ignored her and snorted, shooting each other knowing smirks.

As they continued playing a furious game of Rock-Paper-Scissors, Winter tapped the microphone and trilled, "Happy Hunger Games, District 2! Now, before we choose two…_courageous _young man and young woman, we brought a special video all the way from the Capitol!" She gestured to the screen that spluttered a few times before a black and white film spouted to life on the screen.

"_War. Terrible war._" It boomed, but Ash and Zara tuned it out. Finally the video ended, and it came time to choose the tributes.

Winter, with a smile that stretched from ear to ear, stepped up to the podium, and said, "As usual, ladies first!" She wobbled in her heels to the large girl's bowl. Since Ash was 17, she had 6 slips in the bowl, never having to take out tesserae, but she knew that Zara had 24 slips in there. The odds were not in her favor.

In fact, for many people who trained at the Academy, the odds were not in their favor. The people in the district whose kids trained at the Academy spent their money sending their kids to train so that if they ever did get reaped, they would at least have a chance. And since they brought home some tesserae, they wouldn't have to worry about buying food. And, supposedly, being the favorite District of the Capitol, they got extra food, but it wasn't enough to keep everyone's bellies full. Everyone in the district, even those who were the richest, still had a chance of getting reaped.

Winter dug her hand into the bowl of girl's slips. She rooted in there, seeming to want to mix things up, as she usually picked form the top. She seemed to go all the way to the bottom to pick up a slip, and finally withdrew her hand. She walked carefully back to the microphone, holding the slip deftly in her hand.

"One last game," Ash whispered. Winter was squinting at the piece of paper, like she couldn't believe what was written on it. She beckoned to Dara, Ash's mother. People started to mutter around Ash as the reaping was delayed. "Rock, paper, scissors, shoot," Ash whispered, pumping her hand into her fist. Zara came up paper, Ash scissors. If Ash won the next game, she'd win the best two out of three.

Finally, Winter's expression cleared and she stepped back to the podium. "Rock, paper, scissors, shoot!" Ash said, but before she could put anything out, Winter was speaking the name:

"Ashlar Diamond."

Ash looked up, surprised. She had just been reaped for the Hunger Games. In a Quarter Quell. Her eyebrows raised, she quietly stepped forward. She took the rope in her hands, and pulled. _Snap_. The rope broke apart, and she stepped free of it. Since no one else had the last name Diamond, it could only mean one thing: her mother was the mayor. No one had ever known the mayor had a daughter. All the peacekeepers had frozen in their places, staring, shell-shocked, at Ash. Ash closed her eyes, taking one second in their hesitation, and put her middle finger up. "You can all go to hell," she said to no one in particular. Then she ran towards the stage, and stood there proudly. She would not be coming back to District 2, she knew that, but at least she would make the best of things.

Winter, stunned by her behavior, stared at Ash irritatingly and turned back to the microphone. "Any volunteers?"

And then, Ash could see every single person who trained at the Tribute Academy turn to Zara. Zara turned pale as she tried to understand what they were implying. "What?" she croaked, turning paler by the second. Ash looked at her friend in horror.

No one was volunteering for her. No one else was supposed to. Zara was. And she had no back-up. No one else to volunteer if Zara chickened out. Zara's head snapped up to her friend standing, slumped slightly in place, and shouted, "Ash, I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" Ash doubled over, her stomach hurting just a little bit, and as the pain grew in her stomach, she started to choke.

Zara hadn't been at the Training Center to find out who was volunteering that morning. Of course not. She had been with Ash, joking around. She _was _chosen to volunteer. But she hadn't been there to hear the news. And now Ash was as good as dead.

Ash turned to her mother, and saw the tears welling up, looking so sad, and Ash remarked that she had never seen her as sad as that.

* * *

len agarato, 17

* * *

Len sat, slumped and tired, in the chair near the back of the vast Gathering Room in the Training Center, waiting for Kelsi Panther to announce the lucky ones to volunteer this year.

K-Bomb was sitting next to him, throwing a small ball back and forth in his huge hands. Kelsi was sitting in a chair on the make-shift list, with a clipboard in her hands and pencil marking something. Kelsi usually made the decisions right before she announced them. That way she wouldn't regret them. She knew in the moment that she was right. It was how she had done things for the past six years, and Len thought she was smart. District 2 had had four victors the past six year, which was a record.

She flipped a sheet, shook her head, and crossed something out. K-Bomb's muscles tensed. Everyone was getting anxious. People started to mutter. She flipped the page down, and leaned in. She crossed out something, and circled something else. Then she flipped the page and crossed out something, and then circled something. Kelsi stood. "Alright!" she said sharply. "The 7th Quarter Quell! A special Games, and therefore, special tributes, special talents." Her eyes skimmed over the crowd, and for a second, she locked eyes with Len. For one terrifying second, her eyes seemed to burn right through his soul, and pluck every secret within.

Then her eyes moved on.

K-Bomb let out a sighed breath of relief. "Man, that woman scares the shit out of me," he muttered to Len as Kelsi continued her cursory sweep across the room. She did it every year with them, and it always scared the hell out of everyone, especially the newbies, the six and seven year olds.

Indeed, the little brats were trembling as if they'd just been dunked in ice-cold water. Len snorted. Kelsi smiled at all of them. _Such bullshit_, Len thought. "Our volunteer girl tribute this year is Zara Connor."

Len closed his eyes. Zara Connor. She was good at hand-to-hand combat. Len thought he'd fought against her once, weaponless, and of course he lost. She had pounded him, leaving bruises on his face for at least a week. The only person she hadn't managed to beat was K-Bomb, but she was incredibly fast and wouldn't hesitate to hurt people. He heard a few mutters of disappointment, but other than that nothing was said.

"And our male volunteer this year is Len Agarato." K-Bomb looked at Len, and whistled. He slapped Len on the back and clapped. Len managed to give K-Bomb a painful smile.

Len would've volunteered anyways, for glory for his family, but this was different. He would _have _to volunteer, no matter what he thought about his life or anything. There was no turning back now.

Half an hour later, Len was standing in the square, waiting patiently for Winter Harpoon to start the reaping. Finally, the stupid Capitol video ended and Winter chose a girl. "Ashlar Diamond!" she called. Confused, Len stared around him. He had never heard of the mayor having a daughter. A small girl with dark black hair, wearing a leather jacket, combat boots and a black miniskirt stepped forward, snapped the 17 year olds' rope and gave the Capitol the finger.

"You can all go to hell," she said, then she ran up to the stage. People were chuckling. Winter Harpoon looked seethed that Ashlar had been so rude, and she bluntly asked for volunteers.

Len looked toward Zara, her blonde hair down and straight, looking, wide-eyed, terrified, at the stage. Someone nudged her. Len looked at her, scared as well. Would she volunteer? It didn't look like it.

Disappointed, Len stared at his shoes and waited for her to volunteer. When she didn't, Len stared at her. Then he turned his attention to Kelsi Panther, where she always was, right near the stage. Her look was that of one like a boiling thunderstorm. Rage, fury, and about a thousand other things passed on her face as Winter called out the boy's name.

When Winter asked for volunteers, Len scowled, crossed his arms, waited a second, then grudgingly pushed forward and said, "I volunteer, I guess. Or whatever." He climbed heavily onto the stage and looked at Ashlar Diamond. Up close, she was a little taller, her hair was black, straight, and shiny, her skin was pale and her eyes had a dangerous quality to them.

When they shook hands, her grip was surprisingly strong, and Len winced a little. He tried to smile weakly at her, trying to come up with a joke that wasn't coming. She didn't smile.

A few days ago, one of the few moments Len thought about the Games, was how good a chance he'd have of winning. Looking into Ashlar's eyes, however, he could tell that he'd have a harder time getting back home to District 2 than he'd initially thought.

* * *

ash diamond, 17

* * *

Bored, Ash started exploring the room in the Justice Building. No one had come to visit her yet. She had been expecting at least her mother to come, and maybe Poller and Annabelle, but she didn't at all expect Zara to come in. She thought the girl would be feeling awfully guilty.

"There's my girl," a gruff voice said behind Ash as she tried to punch out an intercom system. Ash spun around and launched herself into Poller's arms. She could see Annabelle tense up as she hugged Annabelle's boyfriend.

"Hey, Poller,"

"I must say, that was one performance you made when you got reaped. I swear I though Winter Harpoon was going to shit her pants from embarrassment. And did you see Kelsi Panther's face? I swear she's going to just _kill _Zar later…" As Poller rambled on, Ash turned to Annabelle.

"Hey," she said. As usual, Annabelle looked beautiful. Her blonde hair was pinned back into a pinwheel bun, and her blue eyes were as clear as the sky. Annabelle smiled at her. And as usual, one of her knuckles was split.

"I hope you're not angry at Zara," she said. "It's not her fault. She didn't know."

"I'm not the type to hold grudges," Ash reassured her. "You just tell her that I say hi and I'm not angry," Ash took a deep breath. "I-I hope you guys survive out there without me."

"What are you talking about?" Annabelle said, frowning. "Everything that Poller taught you…"

"No one who's good at hand-to-hand always makes it far." Ash said. "Especially in the Bloodbath. Poller never taught me how to handle weapons." Ash sighed. "I suppose I'll try my best, but I'm just telling you guys now, I guess…Goodbye."

Tears filled in her eyes, Annabelle dragged Poller along and said, "Goodbye, then, Ash,"

After the door slammed behind her, Ash's mother strode in. One could look at Dara Diamond and look at the confidence radiating off of her. She walked with her head held high, a brave expression on her face, like she wasn't afraid of anything, being the mayor. But Ash could tell from her eyes that her mother was…crushed. She was finished.

"I'm telling you now Mom, don't waste any money betting on me. It's not worth it at all. Please." Ash said as she wrapped her arms around her mother. Her mother nodded.

"I won't. But someday, you'll grow up and realize that all I want is for you to be happy." Her mother breathed into her hair. Ash usually wasn't the sentimental type, so she didn't say anything back at first. There had been this image of a hulking boy running at her, knife in hand, dripping blood, and Ash had a panicked look on her face. Then there was a pain in her back, and it spread throughout her like warm beer on a cold winter night.

"Alright," Ash decided on finally. "I'm not saying I'm going to come back, but I'll try my best." Her mother pulled away. Ash avoided looking her mother in the eyes. Just then, she was sure that her mother knew about her father, was sure that she knew how he died, who killed him, and why. She opened her mouth up to ask, when suddenly, the Peacekeepers beckoned to her mother.

Dara rose, looked at her daughter once, turned, and left the room. And not once, not even a hesitation, indicated that she was looking back.

* * *

len agarato, 17

* * *

Len didn't expect much from his family when they were saying their goodbyes. K-Bomb had said his goodbye and left already, and now his mother and father were standing there awkwardly. Len's father was trying to make jokes, just like Len would think to do, except he was staring at his mother, who was giving him an icy stare like, _Oh, you'd _better _win._ Like she was giving him a choice. It wasn't going to be that easy.

Finally, Len sat down, exhausted. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his mother raise her eyebrows coldly. She looked from Len to her husband, then snapped, "Oh will you shut up, already, Len?"

Len's father, who shared a name with him, stopped talking abruptly. "Marianna," he whined. "I'm lightening the mood. As you may or may not have noticed crying is not going to help our son win the Hunger Games. If you think positive,…" When he saw the look on Marianna's face, he went kind of pale and closed his mouth, then flapped it open again, like a fish.

"I have no time to listen to you." she said coldly, waving a hand like her husband was nothing to her. "My son is going to win the 175th Hunger Games,"

"Our son," Len's father mumbled under his breath, looking down."

"And there is nothing that will stop him. I will make sure of it." Marianna continued. "He was chosen to volunteer because he is the best," she announced loudly, more to herself than anyone else, "and he will be the best of all of those puny little tributes." Marianna looked at her son.

Anyone normal with a different mother than that of Len's would've expected to see pride in Marianna's eyes, or maybe even regret she was losing him, but Len's mother was different. She saw all others inferior to her, and expected nothing less than the best of those she saw worthy of victory.

And today, there was something worse than hatred that filled her dark blue eyes that matched Len's. He thought he had read about it in an old book that he had found in the basement of his house, with dust so thick Len had to use a wet cloth to get the dust off. It had been a book about…something where love was a disease, and Len remembered this one quote. _Hatred isn't the worst thing, he'd said. Indifference is._ That was the thing that was in his mother's eyes right now. Indifference. Most people would think hatred is bad enough, but for one person to not care even remotely about the other…

Len wasn't going to win the Games for his mother. He was going to win the Games for himself, and when he got home, he was going to get emancipated from his mother.

It was a fate far better than the one Len was going to get if he didn't come home at all. Or at least, some people would say. But by then, Len would not even matter to his mother anymore. He would scatter away, on the wind, lost, gone forever. _Hatred isn't the worst thing, he'd said. Indifference is_.

**A/N: District 2's reaping! So usually District 2 tributes are one of my favorites, and I must say that I loved Ash and Len when I read their profiles. Oh, the Careers are going to have such fun this year…**

**Thoughts on my writing?**

**Keep on voting in the poll!**


	7. District 4: I Wear the Mask

cordelia valentina, 17

* * *

Not everyone from the Career districts trained for the Games. Not all of them were crazy. In fact, around half of them had just as bad an opinion as say their peers in District 12 had of the Games: cruel, unnecessary, and harsh. Most of those people came from District 4, from among the Career districts.

But among other things, they all lived well, being one of the richer districts. Some trained for the Games, some did not. It all depended on how much money you had. There were very few exceptions to that rule, however. It also highly depended on, you guessed it, the peoples' opinions on the Games.

For the most part, however, District 4 citizens were normal people who only did their best at their jobs to bring food onto the table to feed their families. Some of them, however, were single parents, and had to work twice as hard. Even their children, at a very young age, had to work.

Except Cordelia Valentina wasn't working today. Who in their right mind would work today, of all days? She knew that playing hooky was probably not the best idea, but who would possibly think of working on the reaping day.

Tide was always telling her that getting herself distracted from fear on the reaping day was very nearly always a good idea, but Cordelia didn't have the heart to work today. Instead, she was laying down on a towel in a cluster of trees near the beach. And Tide wasn't there to tell her to work. Cordelia's mind was elsewhere, as it so often was.

The beach was unusually quiet. Nearly all the time, people were here, but the reaping was at 10:00, and people were rushing to get ready even at 8:30 in the morning. Cordelia closed her cerulean blue eyes and breathed in the salty sea air. Just one more year, after this year, and she'd be safe. Of course there was always the risk that she'd be reaped that year, but there were a lot of teens in the district. Cordelia's odds were very low of getting reaped. And nearly every year, there was a volunteer. So Cordelia wasn't the least bit worried.

Cordelia relaxed. She was almost always at ease. At least, in times like these. But the worst of times, she was lonely. Up until she had met Tide, Cordelia hadn't really have anyone to look over her. Making friends wasn't always easy. Those have really been the worst times. When Cordelia didn't have Tide.

Tide always insisted on protecting Cordelia. It could be infuriating sometimes.

Suddenly, the sound of sand getting squished under someone's feet was behind Cordelia. "Cordelia?" Cordelia turned around, a content smile on her face as her best friend, Tide, marched up to her.

"Hey Tide," Cordelia said, sounding relaxed. "Come sit with me. We've got plenty of time to the reaping. It's so nice this morning." Tide frowned at Cordelia, however. He stepped a bit closer to her.

"What are you talking about?" Tide said to his best friend, checking his watch. "We have half an hour to the reaping. We have to get ready now." Cordelia frowned. She tilted her wrist, staring at her own watch.

"No, it's 8:30. I checked. I just checked it!" Cordelia frowned at her watch. It read 9:32. "No, there must be something wrong," Cordelia murmured, jumping up and staring intently at her watch. Tide sighed.

It wasn't unusual for Cordelia to let her mind wander for an hour or so. She must have been sitting there for some time. "It's okay, Cordelia," Tide said reassuringly, picking up her towel and leading her away from the beach. "You just got distracted. No big deal. Luckily I found you." he smiled and Cordelia could tell he was trying to sound relaxed and happy, but she could sense something else hinting in his voice. He was trying not to panic. She wasn't an idiot—she knew that Tide was very protective of her, always trying to help her when she let her mind wander.

"I'm sorry, Tide," she said.

"It's alright," Tide mumbled. "I'll get you home, and you get dressed real quick. I'll wait for you while you get dressed." Cordelia nodded and swallowed uneasily.

"Well, it's lucky that Talon Overwhill never starts on time," Cordelia said smoothly. She gave Tide a cheeky grin, which made him chuckle quietly. "I mean, he's practically a girl," she giggled, thinking of his polka dotted body. It was a little ridiculous, how the people in the Capitol decorated their bodies. It made her laugh sometimes.

"How many slips do you have in today?" Tide said quietly. Cordelia counted. She had one slip because she had to, and two for her and her mother. And now she was 17.

"18 slips." Tide nodded.

"Not too bad. Could be a bit better, a bit worse," he remarked. "You're not as bad as Kaylin Dabber. She has like, 32 slips. Her own fault, I guess." he chuckled.

"No, blame her parents for having, like, 6 kids." Cordelia joked. "Those guys just don't stop breeding. I heard she has twins on the way." she snorted. "Control yourselves, please," Tide laughed. Cordelia was a charming person when she wasn't so distracted. But she clammed up sometimes, unwilling to give information about herself. People in the district were always trying to figure her out, and they couldn't really. It was hard unless you really knew her. Which Tide did.

Cordelia's mother was a quiet woman. She loved her daughter, of course, but Cordelia spent so much time hiding who she really was to show her feelings about her mother. Cordelia pondered that as she and Tide jogged back to her house.

Tide had insisted upon Cordelia training for the Games, God-forbid anything should happen to her. Cordelia didn't know it yet, but she was going to need it. Her mind wasn't really focused on that. All she wanted to do was relax, slip into her own little world and think, think, think. Take her mind off things. It was the best was to distract yourself from the present.

They reached Cordelia's house, and Cordelia was already thinking of what she was doing after the reaping was over: laying on the beach, relaxed, just an ordinary day in district 4. It was going to be fantastic.

* * *

dylan edmar, 18

* * *

District 4 was just like any other district: they had their markets, their illegal black markets, town drunks, drug addicts, and all other archetypes. But that didn't mean that everyone who sat at the booth where alcohol was sold drank it. Far from it.

Technically, you weren't allowed to buy any alcohol until you were 17 years old, or a victor; District 4 believed just as much as any other district that the victors should be able to blot out their Games. So, the three boys standing at the booth were okay to purchase a bottle of alcohol.

But they weren't. The man who sold the spirits and wine also happened to sell soda pop. So it boosted the boys' popularity if someone saw them drinking, even if it happened to be 90% sugar. Although, not many people knew what really went on in Dylan Edmar's head.

Dylan took a long sip from the bottle he had just purchased. He had meant to buy a few bottles for tonight. This being his last year, if he didn't get chosen to volunteer, his family would have a lot of reason to celebrate. Unfortunately, his friend reminded him, that they would have to be quick if they wanted to find out who'd be volunteering that year. Dylan handed the man running the counter a few coins and trudged unhappily after Theseus.

Dylan especially didn't want to go to the Training Center today, but it wasn't like he had a choice. Attendance was mandatory today. He was sure he was right about who was volunteering. It was almost a game of how he and his friends placed bets on who was to do it.

Technically, Dylan's father was the one who trained him, but that meant that Dylan had to find out who was volunteering. His grandfather and uncle had won the Games, and his father had been furious he'd never had the chance to compete, so since Dylan could walk, he had been training. His father had never quite been sure of how Dylan felt about the Games. Dylan kept his feelings well-hidden from others. And while it was rare that Dylan didn't tell his family things about himself, he _did _like to keep some opinions and facts to himself.

Noah, his best friend, turned to Dylan and said, "Who did you have your money on?" Dylan pulled a little slip of paper out of his pocket. He was already dressed for the reaping, which was why he didn't have to worry about getting ready.

"Salt Bennet for the girls, and Cress Pondly for the boys." Dylan announced to his friends. "But didn't you hear? It's a little different this year. They might not have volunteers at all." Noah's eyes widened, and Theseus's eyebrows shot up. That was rare.

"So they might just leave a few people to their own decisions," Dylan continued, "and…let someone random volunteer. It's going to be a madhouse at the reaping today."

"But why?" Noah wondered aloud. "Why do that?"

"Palmer Caston doesn't know who the other districts are sending in, so it's best to leave us to our own devices. After all, it's a game of who can find who first. The Assassin Games," Dylan said eagerly. He was mildly surprised that he was talking so much. Normally, he was a very quiet boy, and talked only when there was people around, so he wasn't usually this eager to volunteer information that he knew.

Palmer Caston was the Head Trainer. She was an imposing, tall woman, and had indeed won the Games a few years back, and now devoted her life to helping others come home from the Games. Some might call her compassionate. Dylan called her arrogant. She knew everything about everybody. She knew that Dylan's father would want Dylan to volunteer this year. She also knew, however much he tried to hide it, about Dylan's ambitions to be a doctor. As soon as Dylan entered the vast room with a few dozen chairs, where all the announcements were made, she headed over to him. "Dylan," She said, clasping his hand and shaking it. "Always a pleasure to see you. How've you been?"

Dylan grunted and shrugged. "Same old," he muttered, ducking his head. He saw Noah and Theseus beckoning to him out of the corner of his eye. "Gotta go, Palmer," he said. She kept a firm grip on his hands.

"How's your little project coming?" she said, smiling mischievously.

Dylan was even better. He smiled at Palmer and aid to her, "What project?" A frown immediately fixed itself on her face.

"You know," she said.

"I have no idea," he replied calmly. "I'd be happy to talk to you about something you know," he said with a cocky grin and a wink. Palmer cocked her head, stared at Dylan for a second, then strutted away, her tall figure slumping over a bit.

Dylan took his seat next to Noah and waited for the announcement. As expected, Palmer stepped up to the podium and looked at them all with a pained smile. "Good morning," she said.

"Good morning," they all echoed, Dylan sniggering instead and smirking at her. She ignored him.

"This year, the Assassin Games are more deadly. Deadlier than even before, any Games at all. It will be no easy feat to win them. That is why I am not choosing volunteers this year. It is best we leave our tributes to the best devices they have. You all have the option of volunteering, but it is your choice whether or not you want to risk your life in the process." All the trainees gaped at Palmer, open-mouthed. Some of them were definitely thinking of volunteering, some not.

"I do recommend that you all think about this decision." Palmer continued. "It is difficult. Of course, I want District 4 to land another victor this year, and crush District 2. Especially after their easy win last year." She glared at the lot of them, and they all hung their heads silently. Dylan snorted. "Above all, keep the District pride." She walked away from the podium, and people started to mutter.

"Let's get away from this bull," Noah muttered. They exited the Training Center and walked silently to the Town Square.

"Anyone up to another bet?" Dylan said, a smile putting itself on his face, his voice sounding arrogant. Both of his friends looked at him. "On a scale of one to ten," Dylan said loudly, grinning, "how extravagant do you think Talon Overwhill's outfit will be this year?"

Now that was something to smile about.

* * *

cordelia valentina

* * *

Cordelia was late. Due to the fact that she had been sitting in the sun for an hour, it was expected, but Cordelia normally was _never _late to the reaping. As soon as she finished getting dressed, she rushed downstairs to where Tide was waiting, and broke into a run, carrying her shoes with her. She was probably going to get a few cuts, but being late to the reaping—no one risked that.

Thankfully, a Peacekeeper noticed her running to the reaping. He rushed her to a booth and quickly pricked her finger. Murmuring a quick thank you, she put her shoes on and walked quietly to her section. Tide gripped her hand tightly. They found a spot just as the clock struck 10:00.

Talon Overwhill stepped onto stage after the mayor made his long, boring speech, and he was dressed ridiculously. As if the polka dots covering his skin weren't enough, he was wearing a suit with brightly colored polka dots on it, and it looked like he had gotten another piercing to his face. Cordelia couldn't help but giggle at the sight of him.

"Happy Hunger Games!" he said giddily, in a high-pitched voice. "And may the odds be _ever_ in your favor!" Tide gave Cordelia a look, and she silenced immediately. "As usual, ladies first!" he ended the sentence with a loud squeak. Cordelia let her mind wander for a second.

She couldn't remember the exact details of her father. A few vague memories had managed to work their way in through the years, and she remembered only unspecific feelings of him. Happiness, her stomach swooping; sadness, a hollow feeling; and something else. A fire that raced through her limbs, which Cordelia was unable to describe. She knew her mother had felt it when she spoke of him. He was there one day, and gone the next. Her mother seemed to hate the thought of it. And one last one: fear. She couldn't ever remember feeling particularly scared in her memories of her father, but here it was, that feeling that so often came when Cordelia spaced out. It happened sometimes, when there was a storm. She would let her mind wander off, while she sat in the water, motionless, and a hurricane descended on the District. Eventually, Tide would always find her in the water. The water was her one sanctuary.

As Cordelia snapped back to reality, she realized that someone was hugging her. Tightly. Someone else was pulling on her arm, just as tightly. As her vision came into focus and she conceived what was going on, Cordelia plastered a smile onto her face. She'd just been reaped. Tide was hugging her, and a Peacekeeper was tugging at her arm to get her onto the stage. She pulled her arm away from the Peacekeeper and slipped out of Tide's grasp. And smiled.

Her mind was too frazzled to do much else than that. All Cordelia could think about was sponsors. Sponsors would love a girl like that. A girl who was nothing but confident from the beginning. Even if it was all masking the fear she felt inside.

Tide looked at her with a desperate look in his eyes, crying, shouting, but he didn't move from his spot. He roared in outrage as Cordelia walked up confidently to the stage.

She smiled at the District, at the cameras, at her mother, at everyone. She stepped aside and waited for her district partner. Talon called out the boy's name. "Theseus Mito," he said in his girlish voice.

A boy in the 18 year old section gasped and stepped forward slightly. Another boy knocked him out of the way, a strange look in his eyes. "No! Theseus get back! I volunteer!" he sped his way to the stage, and climbed it up in a flash. Slightly startled, Cordelia glanced at Tide. He had the saddest look on his face, and he was sobbing. "My name is Dylan Edmar," the boy said to the district.

"Oh!" Talon said. "Your grandfather, wasn't he a victor?" Dylan nodded. Cordelia didn't remember shaking hands with Dylan, just plopping down on the couch in her room in the Justice Building.

Tide was there in a flash. He hugged Cordelia, and it seemed that all he could say was: "I'm just glad you've trained. You'd die in there." Cordelia couldn't really do anything to console him, other than swear up and down that she'd promise to come home. Tide looked very reluctant to leave.

After a minute or two, Cordelia's mother, Caroline, stepped inside quietly. "Hey, Mom," Cordelia said with a smile. Caroline wasn't frowning or crying. Cordelia liked that about her. Her mother was a very quiet woman. She took everything in silence. She went over to Cordelia and hugged her tightly, for so long and without any words. After letting go, Cordelia sat down on the couch.

"So," her mother said, the first words that she had said, Cordelia presumed, since she had been reaped. "The Hunger Games. The big one. One tribute, hunting another, and only one comes out." she shook her head. Cordelia didn't say anything. "And my daughter is going in. They said this one would be the deadliest." Cordelia didn't say anything. "They said the tributes would turn against their allies, their enemies." Cordelia didn't say anything. "Even themselves." Cordelia didn't say anything. "The deadliest Games yet…" Cordelia didn't say anything. Her mother shook her head.

"Just…" her mother continued, trailing off after that word. "Stay you," she whispered fiercely, taking Cordelia's hands in her own. Cordelia didn't say anything. "Be you. Be the Cordelia I know and love."

"Always," Cordelia said.

* * *

dylan edmar

* * *

Theseus was clutching Dylan's hand, asking him why, why did he volunteer? "Because, I can't let my best friend die like that," Dylan repeated, over and over. "Do you ever feel like that? Like your world would fall apart if someone you knew died?" Theseus and Noah shut up for a second, thinking of Dylan's challenge.

To be honest, Dylan didn't know the answer to the question. What would he do if Theseus or Noah died? Surely, he would move on, but there'd be an empty space in his life, one that could never be filled. Ever. Staring at his friends that moment, he felt quite sure that the world would never be the same without either of them.

"Goodbye," Dylan said sadly. "I'll be seeing you both soon, alright?" He smiled his classic cocky grin. The Peacekeepers came to collect them, and Dylan plopped back down on the plush couch, running his fingers over the velvet, a hollow feeling carving itself in his chest. He waited patiently for his mother and father to visit him.

He could almost see the delight on his father's face. Finally, he would be able to watch someone go through the Games, someone he could be proud of. It made Dylan sick. But he put on a smile, for his father's benefit. He saw his mother smile at him, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. She merely pulled him close and hugged him lightly, not saying a word.

"Finally," his father drawled. "Someone who's got some sense knocked into them. That's a good lad." he rubbed his knuckles into Dylan's skull. "You win for me, boy, eh?" Dylan nodded, smiling.

"You do your best," his mother blurted out, biting her lip and looking nervous. She relaxed a bit, taking in shuddering bits of breath before speaking again. Dylan waited patiently for her to speak again. "You're my brave, brave boy, Dylan. You just…do your best." she smiled affably at him and added, "Whatever is going to happen, you only succeed. That's it, my boy," she hugged him again while his father rattles on and on about how Dylan would win. "I'm cheering you on, no matter what," his mother whispered in his ear.

"I got this," Dylan said easily. "No biggie, the Hunger Games,"

"Maybe," his mother said, an amused look in her eyes. "Something bigger is coming," she said, and smiled briefly at Dylan before she tugged her husband out the door and closing it behind her.

**A/N: Sorry for the long update. We're almost halfway through the reapings! Yay! After I get the next chapter out, I'm going to be announcing the poll results. I know some people have been asking about that. Be patient, grasshoppers. Btw, if you haven't voted yet, please do!**

**I apologize to the creators of the district 4 tributes. I feel like I didn't do such a great job with them. I had a very hard time coming up with how to start the chapter. I'm still not particularly satisfied with this chapter, but anyways...**

**Until next time.**


	8. District 11: Support

vermoine parkel, 12

* * *

There weren't many job opportunities in District 11, except for that of tilling soil, working the orchards and the fields, and not much else. Part of the reason was because the small towns that made up the vast District were so spread out. Part of the reason was because nearly everyone had to work the land, almost to the breaking point, to give food to the Capitol. And nearly everyone who lived in District Eleven's well-to-do was rich, and had nothing to do with the dirt poor ones. Usually, on a Victor's tour, they found out that not everyone was so poor, and were shocked, unless of course they came from the District itself.

Of course, coming from such a poor and unorganized district, not many victors came from that district. Only ten such victors could call District 11 home, and eight of them were dead. The older one was nearly seventy years old, an impressive age for a District 11 native, and half-dead from pneumonia. The other one had won only a few years ago at 15 years old, so she was quite well, but her life could end at any moment, being a tribute that been rebellious, her life was constantly threatened by President Snow. She didn't come out much.

Vermoine had the privilege of living near the Victor's Village. In other words, she lived in the small village of her district's well-to-do part. Being the daughter of the District's mayor's assistant, her family had a good income, and therefore was not dirt poor like much of the District. This being, Vermoine did not have many slips in the reaping bowl. Only one, in fact. But that did not mean that she would not get chosen.

On the morning of the reaping, she was watching her little sister Berrymoine running around the house, dribbling her food out of her mouth as she ran around, trying to find a book she had read the week before.

Vermoine's heart beat hard with both love and hurt as she watched her little sister practically spitting the food out of her mouth. As the oldest of three kids, and the fact that her mother was so busy all the time, her siblings had practically been raised by her. Vermoine didn't want to end up like the poor people of her district. Every time people whispered about her behind her back, she drew her chest up proudly and thought to herself she would have her mother's job someday, and finally help those people. People laughed at her the few times she had said it out loud. By now, they had probably forgotten about it, needing to work to get a meager meal on the table for their own families, but Vermoine was careful to keep her thoughts to herself nowadays.

Not that many people would listen. Berrymoine and Dentan were too young to understand, Vermoine's mother was too busy, and Vermoine didn't have too many friends. A girl could dream, and if she kept it to herself, perhaps it would come true. If only she could believe in it.

Vermoine smiled, brushing down her crazy hair, stood, and chased Berrymoine down. She put her hands firmly on her little sister's shoulders and twisted her to face her. "Berry," she chided. "Go downstairs with Dentan and eat your breakfast. I'll find your book for you." Berrymoine pouted, but whatever Vermoine said, goes for her. There was no disobeying your big sister who practically raised you.

Thinking of Berrymoine and Dentan chased Vermoine's thoughts to the reaping. Even though only one slip said her name on it, there was still the possibility of her getting reaped. Very slim chances, but still, a chance. To be truthful, she was nervous as hell, but she didn't want to frighten her siblings. If she freaked out, then they would freak out, and Vermoine couldn't possibly have that happening.

Vermoine retrieved her discolored bathrobe from her room, went to the bathroom, and turned on the shower water. She was lucky enough to have hot water for bathing, but it didn't always last, so she savored every last drop. After showering, she sprinted downstairs for a bit of breakfast. Her father, a tall man called Mentan, was struggling to light the stove, and a few eggs were wobbling on the counter. Her father spotted her, and beckoned her over.

"Thank goodness you're here." he murmured. "I have no idea how to light this damn thing," Vermoine flinched at the curse word, but she smiled and nodded, and took the matchbox from her father's slim fingers. The tip of the match ignited, and Vermoine held it to the gas. Finally, it caught and the flames danced on the stove; blues, greens, purples, yellows, and oranges, all sorts of wonderful colors.

"I'm going to get dressed, then I'll come down for breakfast." Vermoine said, wiping her sister's face clean from all the disgusting oatmeal she had been eating earlier. Her father nodded, keeping his dark eyes on the stove as he cracked the eggs and mixed them in a glass bowl with a fork. "Where's Mom?"

"She had to leave the house early this morning. Apparently Mr. Lodi was having trouble organizing some last minute things for the reaping, so she's over there doing mission control." he poured the eggs into the pan he had set on the stove and the eggs started sizzling. "Can you help Berry get dressed? I'll make and eat breakfast, then I'll help _that _one get ready," he said, tipping his head to indicate Berrymoine's twin brother, Dentan, who was smirking as Vermoine continued to wipe Berry's face.

"Of course," Vermoine said. "C'mon, Berry," she held her hand out, and Berry took it. She started to hum quietly to herself. As she dragged her sister upstairs, she thought of what would happen today. Would she be reaped, or not? Would she die if she was forced into the Games? What would happen to Berrymoine and Dentan?

So many possibilities, and it was much more than Vermoine's mind could handle for one morning. Hopefully, today would just be an ordinary day, like any other, one where she shouldn't be worrying if anyone would be gossiping about her: they'd all be worrying about their own odds, and whether or not they were in their favor. Vermoine was grateful for that part the reaping day took away from, but the stakes were much higher even if she did look on the bright side of things to talk about. And risking them meant certain death.

* * *

bourin spade, 14

* * *

It was common knowledge that, easily, District 3 had the smartest people in all of Panem. When a smart person not from District 3 appeared in the Hunger Games, all they emphasized was how smart they were, and nothing else. People were tired of having the play-it-smart strategy from 3, and were eager for other tributes to come around and actually know a thing or two about logical things, like math and science. Of course, at least everyone had taken basic courses in english and math and science, and of course the weekly boring lecture about how much the districts owed to the Capitol.

Therefore, it was rather rare that someone from 11, perhaps, was as smart, maybe smarter, as an average District 3 citizen. Because most of the children had to work in the fields and orchards in the time that other districts would be learning, it was extremely rare that that would happen. However, there was one District 11 citizen who would actually care to argue about the statistics that everyone could get the education to be as smart as a District 3 citizen if they only tried. Because of this, this boy rarely had any friends at all, and his fellow District 11 natives made fun of him.

Little did they know that he would be proving them all wrong. And very soon.

Bourin Spade was sitting in a local pub with a fellow student who was trying to get the bartender to give him a drink so he wouldn't be forced to listen to Bourin's lectures. Bourin rolled his eyes, completely and utterly bewildered at why no one would want to listen to a lecture about the philosophies of static electricity. After all, the topic was very interesting. However, he did think it was appropriate to take a break, so he sat back in his chair and took in the small bar. There were many men who looked defeated as they sat in front of tiny tables and even tinier dirty glasses barely filled with the alcohol that could not numb even the weakest of minds. There were a few, though not many, who sat drinking deeply from the bottles themselves.

There had been another whipping last week. Some boy had been caught stealing bread. But when they examined his record—a long history of repeated offenses stealing bread, they decided to push the boy to his breaking limit. It wasn't during the whipping when he had died. They tried to plead with the District doctor, who flat-out refused, and finally, the boy succumbed to his injuries.

Bourin supposed that he felt bad for the boy, and his family. He figured the man who looked as though he hadn't left his chair for the week was his father. His clothing consisted of an overside cloth covering his groin, and what looked like a shredded pillowcase draped over his head. He went barefoot, like many people in the District. He was staring ahead hollowly, and the bartender looked at him with pity on his face. He went to the man with a large bottle. "Here you are, Isaac." he said pityingly. "Last one. I'll take you to the reapin' then you come right back 'ere and have a cuppa tea." he pounded the man on the back, whose gaze shifted momentarily from space to the bartender, then back again. "There's a great lad," He said, shaking his head. He turned to Bourin, who was staring at them intently. "Oi, boy, it looks like your friend has escaped." Bourin squinted outside the bar.

"So it seems," Bourin admitted sadly. "He'll pay for it later…I can't wait to see how he reacts next week when he doesn't know a single thing for the earth science test." he turned to the bartender, who chuckled. "Thank you, sir."

"You're welcome," the old man replied. He leaned in a bit closer. "Mind you, would ya mind paying for the gentleman in the back? He's been drinkin' nonstop for four days, not a penny in his pocket. His son just kicked the can, an' man, I can't bear him to pay in this kinda sadness." he pointed to the man whose son had died in the whipping. "Please. I give him a discount, cuz o' the loss, but I think…I need the money."

"But of course, sir." Bourin smiled. He pulled out a small bag of coins in his bag. The bartender gasped at the money. Funds were so low in District 11, even a bag as small as Bourin's could buy an entire meal. However, this was for emergencies only. His mother insisted on him always carrying around spark change, in case he needed to give it to anyone. "I'd be happy to help." He handed over the entire bag. "And use the extra to get help from the District doctor. Even _he _couldn't refuse an amount of money like this." he smiled at the kindly old man and exited the bar.

Letting out a huge breath, he breathed in the clean air outside the bar. Coughing a little, he doubled over at the prospect of fresh air. Quickly composing himself, he started to walk fast to his house. It would not do to be late for the reaping.

He pulled open the door of his house. Almost immediately, his mother, Aela, engulfed him and said that she had a bath ready. Glad to see his mother, he smiled and took the bath gratefully. "Did you go into the bar today, Bourin?" she said in a concerned tone. Bourin nodded.

"I was trying to tutor a classmate, but he kind of left before we were done. You remember that boy who was whipped last week?" his mother nodded. "Well," Bourin continued. "I used the emergency money to help his father. Drinking himself to death in the bar. You should've seen him, I mean, it was so awful, and I felt so bad for him, I just had to and you know it's hard to watch someone suffering and not do anything about it, so, I just—"

"I get it, honey," his mother cut him off, sounding mildly irritated. "You did a kindness. That's always appreciated by people." she wandered away. Bourin finished washing himself and got dressed quietly. He didn't especially care about the reaping, but it would not be good to miss it.

He signed in to the reaping, flinching only slightly when his finger was pricked. He waited patiently for Hannelore Naysmith, their escort, to come onto stage and pick the names. Finally, Hannelore came onto the stage. Bourin's lip trembled. Even the kindest of people couldn't resist laughing at the district 11 escort. She braided her hair in exuberant ways all the time, and half her face looked like it was dripping off her face half the time. The only normal feature she had were her vivid blue eyes. It looked like her supposed Botox had worked. About half the drippiness was gone from her face, but it looked like her skin was stretched tightly over her cheekbones.

Nonetheless, she was chipper and happy and winced a bit when she smiled wide. "Happy Hunger Games!" she nearly shouted. It was no secret that she always tried to get the hopes up of the district citizens. It was their sole hope. The one quirk of her personality the people actually admired. How even in the darkest of times, she could spin something positive. She pulled a slip out of the girl's bowl.

"Vermoine Parkel," she said. A twelve year old emerged from her section, trembling. A murmur, sounding unsettled, fell over the district, and Hannelore lightly took the girl's hand. A few people looked enraged. Everyone knew Vermoine. She was the daughter of the district's secretary. She was a very sweet and bright girl. Vermoine stopped trembling and managed to put on a brave face.

Bourin liked her. She looked strong. Especially for someone as young as her. Seconds later, Hannelore was drawing the boy's name. Bourin found himself strangely frightened. He, too, was trembling as Hennelore announced the name.

"Bourin Spade," she called. Suddenly, Bourin burst into tears. He was surprised, actually. He was going to die. In the Hunger Games. He hadn't thought of it that way.

But no. What use is a scattered mind? Almost immediately, his intelligent mind began to form a plan…

* * *

vermoine parkel

* * *

Almost immediately after she entered the room, Vermoine's mother burst into tears. "It's okay," Vermoine said soothingly. Her siblings looked to her as a role model, and to seem frightened would not be okay. She needed to seem as though nothing bad would happen. "It's alright," she said. Leaving her mother to her tears, she crouched down next to Berrymione and Dentan and smiled. "You two," she gave them a smile despite her fear. "You two are the best siblings a girl could ask for." She pulled them both in close.

"Where are you going?" Dentan demanded.

"Don't worry, I'll be here very very soon." Vermoine assured them. "So soon. You won't even notice I'm gone."

"How soon?" Berrymoine said anxiously.

"Soon," Vermoine promised.

Vermoine gave her father a quick hug, who, thankfully, wasn't crying, and bid him farewell. "This isn't the end," he said quickly in her ear. After one last final hug to her mother and her younger twin siblings, her family left her. The silence in the room greeted her.

"What now?" she said to the room. It didn't answer.

Vermoine plopped down on the couch, kind of bored. What would the arena be like? What would the other tributes be like? She didn't think she'd like her district partner. She needed someone steady, someone strong, as her ally. He certainly didn't seem so at the reaping. Would she even get an ally?

"Hey stranger," Vermoine's head whipped around, and found her friends, Milly, Aaron, and Kinuya, filing into the room. It was Kinuya who had spoken. She leaned against the wall as if she had no care in the world. Milly was 15, and Aaron was 14, but Kinuya was Vermoine's sole 12 year old friend. "How's it going?" Kinuya wanted to know.

"Could be better," Vermoine said, lifting her shoulders. "A lot better, in fact," she sat forward. "I didn't know how to explain any of it to Berry and Dentan." she shook her head.

"Oh don't worry," Milly said reassuringly. "I'm sure that they'll move on. Your parents will tell them, and they'll understand. We'll always be there for them." she elbowed Aaron.

He nodded vigorously, rubbing his arm. "Always, Vermoine. We wouldn't abandon them. We'll be there every step of the way. You're bound to get more sponsors than that Bourin kid. He actually cried," he smirked, an amused expression that lit up his trademark green eyes adorning his face. "Either way, you'll be good."

Kinuya elbowed him. "Not the time." she said.

"What? Vermoine's strong! You think she has it bad?" he threw up his hands to make his point. Vermoine relaxed and smiled at them. "You have no fricken idea how many times I have seen explicit drawings of me or songs of love and endearment that will make a Peacekeeper want to shoot his head off! For all things damned, even going to the Games will be a better fate than being caught by _them_!"

"_Aaron_!" both girls exclaimed. Vermoine was laughing, however. It was true. All the girls at school fawned over Aaron, it was no lie. She was glad for the distraction.

"Don't get too busy while I'm gone." she said with a grin.

"Never," he said.

"We'll never be too busy for you, Vermoine," Kinuya said.

Vermoine was sure of that. She promised her friends she was going out with a bang.

* * *

bourin spade

* * *

Bourin had never kept a friend for long. It was almost disappointing. He therefore only expected his family to come and visit him. He wiped away the last of his shameful tears and watched his family file inside the room.

"Oh my poor boy," his mother murmured, hugging him and putting her fingers through his hair. "I'm so so sorry this had to happen." Bourin was grateful he had someone to lean on. "Oh look how my boy has grown." For once Bourin was speechless.

"He's a man now, Aela," Bourin's father, Barley, said, sounding tired. His father was nearly in his sixties, and very old and frail. "I hope he can bring home some last dose of money to help his old man." Bourin nodded.

"We're very sorry, Bourin, honey, but you know…every step of the way we'll be there." Bourin nodded again. As soon as they left, Bourin drifted over to the window and stared outside. He noticed all the little kids dancing by the side of the building, playing, happy, as if they didn't have a care in the world.

The door opened again.

Bourin was very very surprised at the sight that met his eyes.

At least twenty boys and girls were entering his room. "Bourin!" they all said. All of the girls began to pile on top of him at once, saying they were going to miss him.

All Bourin could say was, hoarsely, "What are you all doing here?"

"You're getting us help in school," one of the girls, who Bourin recognized as Rice Cacao, said, putting her hands on her hips.

"You're helping all of us," a boy added, one who Bourin didn't recognize.

"That, and we knew no one besides your parents was visiting you." another girl added.

Bourin was touched by the sight that met his eyes. "I—I have…nothing to say," he admitted. All the girls smiled.

"We just wanted you to know," Rice said. "That we're here for you. It's so kind of you to help us, and we need you to know you're not alone. That and I need help getting through biology next year." Bourin almost choked on his tears. This was insane.

"Every step of the way," another girl piped up.

"We'll be there," a boy finished.

"Supporting you." a few of them chimed in. Bourin sat down, unable to take in the information at once.

"Goodbye, Bourin. We know you'll do fantastically." Rice said, smiling at him. The Peacekeepers managed to herd them all out, and by that point, Bourin was in tears. All those years of tutoring, he never thought that it'd pay off like this. It was very touching, having all those people behind his back.

He felt sure that none of the other tributes would have people as supportive as his own.

**A/N: My goodness, two chapters in one day. Keep the reviews coming, guys! The poll is officially closed! I'll be posting another one soon, after the reapings are done.**

**The results are as follows:**

**Bean is the clear favorite, coming in first with five votes.**

**Tied for second are Cordelia and Aretha, both with two votes.**

**And coming in third are Len, Luna, Viktor, and Narci, all with one vote.**

**Thanks for voting, guys!**

**Just a quick note: the beginnings of the reapings have been generally very abstract and loosely tied to the tributes' lives, and they're going to be beginning differently from now on. They're going to be more straightforward this time around, pinpointing an important point in a specific tribute's life, or something they're doing at a specific time. Just letting you know.**

**We are halfway done with the reapings. Yay! Soon, so wonderfully soon, we will be finished with the reapings and onto the pre-Games fun. Just to refresh your minds, I have done Districts 3, 12, 5, 2, 4, and 11. I have yet to do Districts 1, 6, 7, 8, 9, and 10.**

**Hope you all enjoyed the chapter.**

**Until next time.**


	9. District 6: When Life Gives You Lemons

ordell ford, 14

* * *

The trains were loud. So loud that many in the station had to cover their ears. Some of them were long used to the loud half groaning half shrieking sound that the whistles made. The old men in the station grunted and laughed at the amateurs. Of course, no one bothered to notice the boy who was still hopping around the trains freely, even though it was to move soon, towards the Capitol. They all knew Ordell Ford, though, and if there was one thing that Ordell knew, it was limits.

Ordell grunted as the toe of his boot connected with a complicated piece of machinery on the train. He winced as a shot of pain went up his leg. Anything was better than this. He wished it was winter. Then it wouldn't be so hot around the trains. Ordell liked balance. Making sure not to grab his foot for comfort, which would only result in more injury, Ordell hopped lightly downwards as the train began to gain speed. Everyone started to file inside of the building behind the train station, not even bothering to help Ordell.

He didn't care. He'd been doing this sort of stuff since he was 10 years old. Even Bart, his best friend, couldn't say he'd had more experience than Ordell. Ordell's skill was hard to match.

Ordell carefully edged his way down the train, finally putting his weight on the platform directly above the wheels. For a few seconds, Ordell lifted his hands from his handhold and closed his eyes. He just liked to feel the wind in his face. He'd seen an old old movie where a woman was hanging upside down with her head near the wheels. It was nerve-wracking to watch that movie, towards the end. Finally opening his eyes, he smiled, and jumped into the open air.

Landing on his toes a few feet away from the train tracks, Ordell rolled to stop his momentum and stood very still for a moment. He liked to think that the people that had given him this job had given him the hardest job. Even though it wasn't a particularly hard job to adapt to.

Sprinting back to the warehouse where his colleagues were, he slipped inside and scanned the crowd for his best friend, Bart Julep.

When Ordell's parents died when he was young, he was taken in by the orphanage, but due to his antics, was asked to leave. _Yeah right_. More like asked never to come back. Ten year old Ordell had only been too happy to oblige. After wandering the streets for a night, he met then 17 year old Bart at a bar, who decided to take him in to his apartment. Ordell later learned that Bart's parents were both dead, but Bart had made a convincing case to not be taken into the community home. So he supported himself. It was a good life, a good job, not too hungry all the time.

Ordell also liked to think that of all the districts, the guys at the train station supported each other the most. Being around a dangerous vehicle tended to bring them together, to help each other not get smashed to bits by a train. So Ordell was pretty content with his life.

He finally spotted Bart, and jogged up to him. "When's the next train coming?" he inquired of his friend.

"During the reaping," Bart replied.

"Do we have to be there?" Ordell asked, confused.

"Oh, no," Bart said. "That's for the tributes. I meant after the reaping. We can go home after this. It's the hovercraft people I feel bad for. They don't get out till twenty minutes before the reaping starts."

"Lucky us," Ordell muttered, then chuckled. He took a cup of water and swigged it down. "Let's go. I don't want to be late." He threw the cup out and exited the warehouse. "The train is going our way," he said, examining a map of the train routes. The next train to pass through District 6 was going straight through the station and right near their apartment complex in the well-off section of District 6. Not that Bart and Ordell counted themselves as well-off. But they weren't dirt poor either.

"You sure?" Bart said, leaning in close and examining the map. Ordell nodded and pointed to the route. "Alright. If we hurry, we can just catch it a few yards back from here." Together, they jogged side by side along the train tracks, just as another train came barreling down, and crossed to the other side. Ordell stood back, then ran and hurled himself on the door, and grabbed onto the handle of the door. His body swung around and slammed onto the opposite side of the door, so he could keep a look out for his and Bart's building.

Letting the wind sting and cool his face, he closed his eyes for a second. Doing this on reaping day always made him relaxed. It made him feel on top of the world, like nothing could ever hurt him. In the distance, he could spot the building where his and Bart's apartment was.

Swiveling his body around the face Bart, he shouted, "Getting close!" Bart nodded, and Ordell swung back around and got prepared to jump. Leaning to the side, holding himself by only one hand on the train, he jumped, as he had earlier, and landed on his feet. He heard Bart land a few seconds later.

"Not bad," Bart remarked.

"C'mon," Ordell said, a grin etching itself upon his face. "I'll race you back home." He tore away into the small, thin forest separating him and his home.

"Not fair!" he heard Bart shout. "You're so much faster!"

Ordell only laughed, hoping it carried over the wind. Life hardly shaped itself to please one person. It had only done far better for Ordell. Take life, give him hell, and let him make of it, whatever he could. And Ordell couldn't have had made it better than this.

* * *

tyhler steer, 15

* * *

Sometimes Tyhler hated the rule of "no blood on the reaping day" that her father enforced upon her and her brothers. It wasn't like there was a meter that told them when enough was enough. You either won a fight, or you lost a fight. No matter what the injuries, or how bad. Usually Tyhler and her brothers avoided the fatal part. It was a general rule of fighting. Killing your ow siblings was mean.

Fighting them for fun, however, was, well, fun.

Ever since Tyhler was little girl, she and her brothers had been fighting. There was no other way to put it. All they did most of the time was punch, kick, swing, eat, drink, and sleep. They only just managed to fit in school along with the other things that made the Steer family busy as hell.

Currently, Tyhler was trying not to bite her lip as she circled one of her older brothers, Hamotte. He had punched her hard on the jaw, and unfortunately caught her lower lip in the firing range. It was now throbbing, and of course, hurt like hell. As usual, though, she ignored it. The pain no longer bothered her.

Inside, Tyhler's father, an aging man named Tyson, was rummaging through his wife's old things to try to find something appropriate for the reaping, whilst trying to monitor Hamotte's and Tyhler's fight to make sure no blood came of it. It didn't seem like it was going to work very well. "Tyhler!" he shouted outside their small, run-down house. "Come and see this!" he tried to hold up a floral shirt. Tyhler glanced at it for a second, blocking her brother's punch to her jaw.

"No!" she shouted back. "I'm not wearing anything like that! I washed one of my white shirts yesterday in a pond! I'll wear that!" she bent down low and swung her foot into her brother's side, taking all the breath out of him. As he clutched his stomach, gasping for breath, Tyhler sped inside the house and showed her father the shirt she had washed.

"Oh," her father said, frowning slightly. "Alright then," Tyhler smiled and ran back outside to meet Hamotte. "I wouldn't have made you wear it, anyways!" he shouted to Tyhler once she was standing in front of Hamotte, shaking her fists out and clenching them.

"I didn't think you would!" Tyhler shouted back, spitting hair out of her mouth. She hated wearing girly clothing. There was no other way to describe it: Tyhler was a tomboy. She never wore what one would call "girl clothing", as tough as nails, and not at all lady-like.

Tyhler had learned from her father that her mother had been ladylike and elegant. Tyhler could only gag at the thought of being shaped like her mother would've wanted her to. Any other life than the one she was leading didn't sound like a good prospect. Frilly clothes…was an inconceivable thought.

Tyhler jabbed her brother in the stomach, hopefully taking the breath out of him. Tyhler was fast, and hard to catch. She took her time to catch her breath while her brother recovered. She played fair.

While Hamotte recuperated, Tyhler backed up, then did a roundhouse kick towards his side. Hamotte fell to the ground, clutching his side. "I literally cannot move, Tyhler," he groaned, curling into a fetal position.

"That's no fun," Tyhler complained. She pushed her short brown hair out of her face and subconsciously touched her nose. "C'mon, just a little more?"

"I think he's done, Tyhler. You win." Hamotte's twin brother, Emmett, Tyhler's older brother, appeared at his side, dressed in a clean white shirt and trousers. He crossed his arms as Tyhler tried to plead with him.

"C'mon." Someone picked Tyhler off the ground roughly.

"Not cool," Tyhler grumbled, crossing her arms. "Not cool, Joul." she grinned. "Hey, that rhymed!"

"No shit, Sherlock," Emmett said absently.

"Seriously, Tyhler, you need to get dressed." Joul said, placing her on her bed. "Look at the nice shirt Dad put out for you. At least it's not flowers,"

"Flowers are shit," Tyhler agreed quietly.

"So get dressed." She got dressed in the shirt and the nicest trousers she had, and put on her cleanest shoes. It wasn't like she had many. Most of the clothing she had came from the junkyard that her home presided in. Her family wasn't exactly the richest. They were dirt poor, but that didn't matter to Tyhler's father, or to Tyhler's brothers, or to Tyhler herself. She only cared that they were all together.

"I'm ready," Tyhler said, itching slightly in the nice clothing. "Now when can I get out of these clothes?"

Tyhler's oldest brother, Zacarius, smiled and laughed. "As soon as the reaping is over." Tyhler rolled her eyes. Years ago, all of her brothers used to play rough with each other. Now, Zacarius and Joul had grown softer. Zacarius had grown, as Tyhler liked to say, "too good to hit a girl". It was a phrase that Emmett and Hamotte and Luther and Tyhler all agreed upon.

Once, a long time ago, Tyhler and all her brothers, Zacarius, Joul, Emmett, Hamotte, and Luther, used to fight each other all the time, with no regard for who was who and what went on. Those were the most fantastic years of Tyhler's life. Now, Zacarius and Joul had grown older, and matured. They kept on insisting that Tyhler would, too, in time, but Tyhler refused to believe that.

"Luther!" Tyhler said called. "Let's go to the reaping!"

Tyhler got along most often with Luther than any of her other brothers, purely because they stuck together. It was typical for the youngest to stick together.

"You've got, what, 32 slips in the bowl, right?" Luther said. Tyhler counted in her head, and nodded slowly. "Not too bad, eh?" he said jokingly. Some might be shocked to hear that by District 6 standards, 32 slips at 15 was "not too bad", but compared to some of the people Tyhler knew, 32 slips was nothing (especially if you looked at Tanaka Suedo, who had 60 slips at 17).

"Good luck," Tyhler said as the siblings separated into different lines to sign in. She had a feeling they'd both need it, today especially.

* * *

ordell ford

* * *

Ordell was all on his own at the reaping that day. Since Bart was 21 years old, he was ineligible for the reaping. He wished Ordell good luck, and walked away. Ordell usually didn't worry at the reaping, so he got his finger pricked and easily walked into the boy's section. He crossed his arms and wished he had something to lean against. His feet tended to ache a lot.

Ordell observed all the boys his age. It was fascinating, how these people worked. He hadn't been around someone his own age out of work and school in years. Usually he was with Bart. Though, as Bart was engaged now, Ordell tended to find a quiet place to hang out, hide in the shadows, listen to gossip.

As usual, he heard gossip about the girls, the teachers, who they thought was going to get reaped, but no one seemed particularly aggressive, like they usually were. No pushing, no shoving. It was scary, how teenagers could be one person one day and another the next. Strange.

Ordell counted on his fingers how many slips he had in the bowl. One because he had to, and two each for Bart and him. It had been the same when Bart was eligible for the reaping. So five times three was fifteen. Impressive. Ordell's odds of getting reaped were very low.

Something was up with the microphones. As the clock struck 11:00, the mayor tapped the microphone and a high-pitched shriek emitted from the loudspeakers. Ordell covered his ears. "Geez," he murmured under his breath. From years of working the trains, Ordell was a wiz with machinery. He'd fix it in two minutes. The mayor coughed, and someone handed him a handkerchief.

Ordell stood still for a minute. Finally, the mayor swiveled around and walked unsteadily to the podium. When he spoke, his voice sounded hoarse, like the mayor was sick. He could tell because the he was speaking as quickly as possible. When he finished, he introduced the escort, Horatius Fairbane.

Horatius Fairbane was an old man, who had long since lost his touch, and his lips were just barely curved in a smile. Some people said that in his last years, he had gotten sentimental and felt sympathy for the children forced into the Games. And now he was being punished by President Queer by still having to do the reapings. It was her way of saying, "Have a great death." In some ways, President Queer was even more deadly than some say President Snow was. Ordell wasn't one to judge, but he did have to say that Queer was quietly powerful.

"Good morning, District 6," Horatius said, smiling down at the district. "I do hope you're all well." He gave a cursory glance to the Peacekeepers surrounding him, who tensed up at the sight of him, gripping their guns. Ordell could hear the leather squeak of their gloves. Some of the citizens smiled at the old man's compassion.

"As always, happy Hunger Games. And may the odds…" he didn't finish the sentence. He once again threw his gaze at the Peacekeepers, and said hurriedly into the microphone, "Our brave young ladies go first," his orange eyes jumped from one of the Peacekeeper's guns to the crows and back. Some said he resembled a flame, with his orange eyes, long red hair, and faint yellow skin.

The wizened old escort dug his hand in to the bowl and quickly picked up a slip, then hurried back to the podium and announced the name. "Tyhler Steer,"

"Of course," someone said sarcastically. Everyone's head turned to a girl in the 15 year old's section. She had a knowing expression on her face, as though she had known it was coming. She stepped forward, she really had no choice, and stomped up to stage. The Peacekeepers tensed again, but Tyhler gripped her hands, like she was preparing for a fight.

Her name rang a bell in Ordell's head, but he couldn't quite remember anything about her. Too soon, Horatius was pulling the boy's name, and Ordell heard it ring out across the square in an ominous voice.

"Ordell Ford." Ordell's heart started beating loudly as it sank in his chest. There was no escaping his fate now. Oh well. Sometimes you just have to give up, no matter how hard. Only then can one find their redemption. Ordell really hadn't that great of a life, when he thought about it. At least he'd have a chance. Maybe he'd make it out alive.

But that's exactly what life had done. Given him hell and making him make the best of it. It was all falling into place.

* * *

tyhler steer

* * *

Tyhler really hadn't had any other friends in her life besides her brothers. They sort of sustained each other, fought, and got along. It was like the circle of life in the Steer family. However, none of them were good with sentimental type situations. Tyhler sat awkwardly on the edge of one of the plush couches, fingering a loose thread on her shirt.

"Think of all the food you'll get," Emmett was saying. "More than we have, certainly."

"Yeah, you enjoy it, honey," her father added. Tyhler smiled weakly at them. "Enjoy the Capitol while you can."

"Did you ever doubt me?" Tyhler joked. "I will certainly gorge myself on the food, Dad," she promised, patting her small stomach. Everyone in the room gave a small chuckle.

"Tyhler," Joul said cautiously. "Just…don't get in trouble. Stay safe. And whatever you do, get out of the Bloodbath as fast as possible." Tyhler frowned. She wasn't sure what she'd do at the Bloodbath. She hadn't really taken the Games into perspective. She was only thinking of saying goodbye to her family, and how she might not ever see them again.

"Oh, don't get her into that kind of thing yet," Luther chided his older brother. "Tyhler wouldn't do that. Not if she wants to come out of the arena in one piece." his tone was joking, but there was a desperate look in his eyes when he turned to face Tyhler.

Tyhler understood Luther more than any of her other brothers. They were close, it was no denying it, and Tyhler could already see him struggling to figure out what he'd do without her. "Don't worry." she assured him. "I'll definitely come back in one piece."

"Good," her father said. "Now you go and show 'em. They won't know what hit them, Tyhler. I am so so proud of you." he smiled and clapped his daughter on the shoulder. Tyhler drew herself up with pride, glad her father was proud of her.

"Thanks, Dad. Don't take too long to miss me when I'm gone." she said. "You promise?"

"Always."

"Good." Tyhler smiled. "I'll see you all soon. And…I love you."

"Aww," Emmett said, and he and Hammott snickered. "I didn't know you took the domestic approach."

"Shutup," Zacarias said to him. "She'll be great in there. Dad's right, Tyhler. You go and show them. Show them what you're made of." Tyhler nodded one last time, and they all said goodbye. Luther gripped Tyhler hard when they hugged. Tyhler buried her face in her brother's shoulder. Neither of them said anything, but they didn't cry either. Just stood there.

"Goodbye, Tyhler," he said.

"Never forget me," she told him, and he nodded. It was all Tyhler could hope for right now.

**A/N: Hi all! Glad I got this chapter out before I am officially out for the weekend. Okay, it's only for the next day. Sorry for the slow updates. I have a lot going on these days, but we're almost done with the reapings! Hooray! What'd you guys think of these two tributes?**


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